Indianization, the Officer Corps, and the Indian Army: The Forgotten Debate, 1817-1917 9781498579513

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Indianization, the Officer Corps, and the Indian Army

Indianization, the Officer Corps, and the Indian Army The Forgotten Debate, 1817–1917 Chandar S. Sundaram

LEXINGTON BOOKS Lanham • Boulder • New York • London

Published by Lexington Books An imprint of The Rowman & Littlefield Publishing Group, Inc. 4501 Forbes Boulevard, Suite 200, Lanham, Maryland 20706 www.rowman.com 6 Tinworth Street, London SE11 5AL, United Kingdom Copyright © 2019 by The Rowman & Littlefield Publishing Group, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote passages in a review. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Information Available Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Sundaram, Chandar S., author. Title: Indianization, the officer corps, and the Indian Army : the forgotten debate, 18171917 / Chandar S. Sundaram. Description: Lanham, MD : Lexington Books, [2019] | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2019007642 (print) | LCCN 2019017130 (ebook) | ISBN 9781498579520 (electronic) | ISBN 9781498579513 (cloth : alk. paper) Subjects: LCSH: Great Britain. Army. British Indian Army—Officers—History. | Great Britain. Army—Colonial forces—India—History. | India. Army—Officers—History. | India—Race relations—History. | India—History, Military. Classification: LCC UA842 (ebook) | LCC UA842 .S858 2019 (print) | DDC 355.3/ 320954—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019007642 TM The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of American National Standard for Information Sciences Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992.

Dedication This book is dedicated to the memories of the following people: Bhavani Sundaram (1932–2007) was my mother. I owe my love of books, literature and history to her. She told me bedtime stories, and read to me when I was young. There is even an old black-and-white photo of me, admittedly a fat, contented baby, sharing her lap with a big hardbound book, which she is intently reading—aloud, presumably—to me. Some years before she died, I finally figured out that that big book was a volume of the Encyclopaedia Britannica, of which we had a complete set!! Clearly, she had high hopes. I guess that’s where I got the habit of leafing through encyclopedias, a pastime I still enjoy. She also imbued me with a strong sense of right and wrong, the ability to cut through the vexing idiocies of life, and not to suffer fools gladly. Sutthamallee Ponniah Sundaram (1923–2012) was my father. Although he never exactly understood my passion for history, and could not understand that academic history books seldom make money, he nevertheless supported me throughout my younger years. Thankfully he was not like most other South Asian patriarchs who overbearingly and judgmentally micromanage their children’s education, career, marriage, and whatever else they can get their hands on. His words to me were: “Whatever you do, do it well.” I have always tried to follow his advice. Muthulakshmi Sarma (1911–1996) was my grandmother. She was a wonderful cook, and always used to make my favorite South Indian dishes whenever I used to visit her in Bangalore. If I close my eyes, I can still almost taste them! Yet, she had a

mind like a steel trap, and a phenomenal memory, which I think I have inherited. It was she who told me that Austen Chamberlain, in whose papers at the Birmingham University (UK) Library I was then researching, was the half-brother of Neville Chamberlain. “You know, that ‘peace in our time’ guy who flew to Munich to sign that pact with Hitler back in ’38,” I still remember her saying. And all this with a fifth grade education, in Tamil, no less. Who knows what she could have done with a university degree or two! Professor DeWitt Clinton Ellinwood Jr. (1923–2012) was my true intellectual mentor. He was a very generous man, and a careful and nurturing scholar—a true mentor’s mentor. Ever since I met him in 1985, he took me under his wing, encouraging me to publish my research, especially after disaster befell me in the UK. He then literally gave me my PhD research topic, which forms the basis of this book, and then penetratingly read the draft chapters I produced. I’ll always remember his reply when I said I wouldn’t think of poaching that subject, which was one he’d already begun working on: “You take it. You need it more than I do; besides, I know you’ll do it justice.” I humbly hope I have. I owe the fact that I am a writer, historian, scholar and a hopefully decent person to all these people. I hope I’ve done them proud.

Contents

Foreword

ix

Acknowledgments

xiii

List of Abbreviations

xvii

Introduction: Defining and Conceptualizing the Forgotten Indianization Debate 1 2 3 4 5 6

1

Contexts of the Forgotten Indianization Debate, 1600–1914 11 The Idea of Indianization and Its Enemies, 1817–1898 33 The Imperial Cadet Corps: Its Formation and Pedagogy, 1900–1915 83 Future Recruitment, Future Employment, and the Future of the Corps, 1902–1915 109 War and the Window of Opportunity, 1914–1917 163 Little Grace in the Giving: Indianization Policy, 1917–1945 211

Conclusion: Of “Psychological Moments” and “Persistant Agitation”

227

Bibliography

239

Index

255

About the Author

263

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Foreword

There has been considerable research into the subject of the Indianization of the Indian Army’s officer corps, which is conventionally said to have played out in the last thirty years of the Raj (1917-47). But, in this book, Chandar Sundaram shifts our focus to the hitherto largely neglected 100-year debate which preceded this, and thereby tells us something completely fresh and provocative about the topic, vital as it is to the history of modern India, the history of the British empire and its decolonization, and to global military history. Chandar Sundaram’s Indianization, the Officer Corps, and the Indian Army: the Forgotten Debate, 1817-1917 is the book that, for some time, I had been hoping he would write. In his earlier writings, Sundaram has ably demonstrated that armed force, in the form of Britain’s Army in India, was an integral and important part of Britain’s Indian Empire, right from when the British first employed local armed men to protect their trade in the seventeenth century, to the end of the Raj in 1947. In this work, Sundaram’s central argument is in two parts. First, it breaks new ground by arguing, and amply demonstrating, that Indianization was not the result of hasty ad-hockery, but the result of a long, continuous, and complex debate, which went all the way back to 1817, when Britain’s rule in India was in the early stages of an uncertain development and future. He then argues for the centrality of Indianization as a vexing policy question, and highlights this by demonstrating how it constantly grasped the attention of the highest levels of Anglo-Indian and London officialdom, as well as the elite Indian intelligentsia and politicians. How could it not attract attention, given the socio-military implications of Indians in a position of leadership in the Indian Army? As Sundaram shows, Gopal Krishna Gokhale, an early Indian nationalist and one of Gandhi’s political mentors, and Mohammed Ali ix

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Jinnah, who later midwifed the birth of Pakistan, championed Indianization in the assembly chamber. The racial leadership of the Indian Army was a hot topic after the Indian “Mutiny” of 1857. Even decades after 1857, the most improbable seditious prophecies were taken seriously by the political and military authorities, as the British in India retreated ever more so into their “golden ghettos.” As Edward Thompson reminds us in his impassioned The Other Side of the Medal, during the 1857 War, Indians and British achieved their full and conscious opposition to one another. This was hardly the right time to be considering Indianizing the officer corps in the British Indian Army. This fascinating window into Indianization doesn’t end in 1917. In an important epilogue, Sundaram carries the story forward to 1945. Although Indianization was resisted—Churchill himself was opposed to it—World War Two lead to the wholesale expansion of the Indian Army and a surge in the number of Indian officers. On 1 October 1939, the proportion of Indian officers to British officers was 1:10.1. Compare this to 1 September 1945, when the proportion of Indian officers to British officers increased to 1:4.1. That said, Indianization was a difficult sell throughout its long and contested history. And this brings us to an important and related political question. Even though the familiar image of the Indian Army was that of a force led by white officers, there was mounting concern about training Indian officers to eventually replace white officers as Indian independence loomed on the horizon. Indeed some farsighted officials recognized the greatest complexity associated with the challenge of turning the British Army in India into a national army led from top to bottom by Indian officers. Sundaram’s book is deeply researched and brilliantly conceived. It is also beautifully written. It is a game-changing book that skillfully explores and navigates the complex and vexed terrain of the forgotten Indianization debate, mining rich and heretofore largely unexplored seams of archival material in the UK and India. It is simultaneously intellectually rigorous, historically grounded, and, in important respects, goes far beyond the limitations of military history to the history of war and society, a subject Dr. Sundaram is equally well-versed in. The book also offers a model for the study of indigenous military leadership in other European colonial armies, where the issue of race and military leadership were thorny questions, as in Dutch Indonesia, French Indochina and French north and equatorial Africa, Portuguese Africa, Germany’s African colonies, and Britain’s African colonial armies, to mention a few.

Foreword

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To conclude, this book is a major achievement and the defining standard work on the Indianization of the officer corps of the Indian Army. It deserves the widest readership possible, both in academic and, because of the engaging way in which Sundaram has written it, general circles. Roger N. Buckley Emeritus Professor of History University of Connecticut–Storrs May 2018

Acknowledgments

This book began life as a doctoral dissertation. I had originally intended to critically examine the entire process of Indianization from the time it was first proposed right through to when Cariappa became the first Indian Commander-in-Chief, in 1949. The richness of the material I found in the UK convinced me, however, that a large part of the real story of Indianization happened before the 1917 declaration formally sanctioning it. The archival seams I later uncovered in India confirmed this hunch—that the pre-1917 Indianization debate largely determined the contours of post-1917 Indianization policy. This book is the proof. My research was partially funded by two McGill University travel grants, in 1992–93, which allowed me to research in UK archives, and by fellowships from the Shastri Indo-Canadian Institute (1997) and the Centre for Armed Forces Historical Research of the United Service Institution of India (2008–10) which enabled crucial research in New Delhi. The ideas and arguments in this book were formed and re-formed on the anvil of fourteen academic conferences and seminars in Britain, the US, the UK, Canada and India, where I presented papers. I thank those who attended my papers for some incisive comments. I thank the following people and institutions. Professor Roger N. Buckley revealed colonial military history to me, and kindly wrote the foreword to this book. Tim Thomas and the late Anthony Farrington at the old India Office Library (now the British Library’s Asia, Pacific, and Africa Collections), and Dr. Francesca Harlow (now of the University of British Columbia) all helped my initial burrowing in the UK, as did the staffs of the special collections of the University of Birmingham and Cambridge University Library. The late Professors Lloyd and Suzanne Rudolph facilitated my research into the Amar Singh Diaries. The late Mohan Singh Kanota offered xiii

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kind hospitality during a visit to Jaipur. The late Professor Partha Sarathi Gupta thought highly enough of my work to offer an early publication opportunity. Ms. Jaya Ravindran of the National Archives of India (NAI) smoothed many archival bumps. Professor S.R. Mehrotra very kindly urged the NAI staff to do their utmost to help me, because I was “a first-class scholar who’s come all the way from Canada!” I hope this book makes me worthy of that description. Dr. Shereen Ratnagar, the late Dr. Ram Rattan, the late Jasbir Jolly, and the late Lt-Col Gautam Sharma, gave freely of their friendship and advice. Squadron-Leader Rana Chhina (retd.) and Col. P.K. Gautam became good friends, and gave advice and feedback. Captain Ashok Nath FRGS has always been “in my corner,” and assisted me on a vital point in the book. Professor Veena Talwar Oldenburg kindly allowed me to quote from our email correspondence. Drs. Anirudh Deshpande and Anu Satyal for their sympathy, kindness and hospitality; Drs. Alia Somani and Neha Gupta, fellow Indo-Canadian scholars, for their friendship in New Delhi; Dr. Gareth Davey for his friendship and keen critical eye; Amélie de la Musardière, for her abiding friendship that has sustained me in China, India, and Canada; Susan Sinkinson for her extremely kind support over the past seven years. My informal support group—Imtiaz Khan, John Azar, Mike Etheridge, Matt Pollard, Jeremy Hespeler-Boultbee, Georgina Hope, Alex Gilchrist—have provided much good company, conversation, laughter and friendship; the late Monica Oldham, a nonagenarian when she passed away, and a dear soul, took interest in my work, and regaled me with stories of her father, Colonel Frank Trevor Oldham, who served in the India of the Raj. The late Dave Lynn was always a discerning lay reader, and nursed me back to a reasonable modicum of health after the ravages of India. Bev MacLean, Nick Fiorenza, Steve Richardson, Dagfinn Nygaard, and Chanakya Arya, whom I met in London 33 years ago, and are still “mates” in the British/Australian sense of the word; a neighborhood café called “Koffi” for being a most congenial workspace, and I thank Mike, Brittney, Riley, Susanna, Daisy, Veronica, Mele, and regulars, like Rob, “Moe” (aka Dr. Mohammed Sadek), Jim, Amanda, Chris and John, for making it so. Heartfelt thanks to Lindsay Brooks of the Victoria Brain Injury Society for helping with a last-minute glitch. KNKX provided me with the perfect soundtrack of jazz and blues and NPR news to ease the arduous but ultimately satisfying task of writing and rewriting. Parts of this monograph have appeared in South Asia, new series 18(1), May 1995; The Journal of Imperial and Commonwealth History, 25(3) Sept. 1997; P.S. Gupta and A. Deshpande (eds), The British Raj and its Indian Armed Forces, 1858–1939 (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2002); and The Journal of Military History, 77(1), Jan. 2013. I thank the publishers of these works for permission to reproduce those materials here. A special thanks goes to the team at Lexington for initially seeing the merit of

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this book, for sensibly interpreting the external reader’s report, and for their flawless compositing. Though I am not delusional enough to think that people will read this book all the way through like a novel, I hope the fact that I have written this book with clarity, and as a straightforward narrative, encourages them to at least try. A major, though understated, theme of this book is racism, which, as an Indo-Canadian, I have experienced first-hand. I hope “pigmentally challenged” readers will recognize and be provoked by this “take-away” to critically think about their own practices. Last, but definitely not least, I want to express my deepest gratitude to my darling Cat—Dr. Cat Wilson—a firstrate historian “in her own write,” who has blessed me with her love, understanding, support, advice, and generosity. Every day, she adds wonder to my life. Chandar S. Sundaram Victoria, Canada 27 August 2018

List of Abbreviations

AD: Army Department BL (APAC): British Library, Asia, Pacific, and Africa Collections CID: Committee of Imperial Defence CinC: Commander-in-Chief EIC: East India Company GOI: Government of India HMNILF: His Majesty’s Native Indian Land Forces IA: Indian Army ICC: Imperial Cadet Corps ICO: Indian Commissioned Officer IKCO: Indian King’s Commissioned Officer INCO: Indian Non-Commissioned Officer IO: India Office IQCO: Indian Queen’s Commissioned Officer KCO: King’s Commissioned Officer MilDept: Military Department MLA: Member of the Legislative Assembly MSS. Eur.: European Manuscripts NAM: National Army Museum, London NAI: National Archives of India, New Delhi PRO CAB: Cabinet Office Papers, Public Record Office, London QCO: Queen’s Commissioned Officer Progs: Proceedings SSI: Secretary of State for India xvii

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List of Abbreviations

T: Telegram TNA: The National Archives, Kew, UK UAL: Unattached List V: Viceroy VCO: Viceroy’s Commissioned Officer

Introduction Defining and Conceptualizing the Forgotten Indianization Debate

The present position of [the Indian Officers’] subordination to British officers in . . . [Indian Army] regiment[s] is calculated to impair any initiative or leadership they may have originally possessed. —Charles Roberts, 1915 1

The officer corps is the nervous system of an army. In the Army of the British Raj in India, from its origins until a mere thirty years before India achieved independence, this was reserved for Britons—Anglo-Indians, in the parlance of the day. 2 In other words, the Indian Army’s officer corps was, until 1917, “banned and barr’d—forbidden fare,” 3 to the Indians who formed the majority of that Army’s manpower. Of course, there were Indian officers before 1917. These were the unique class of “Native Officers”—called “Viceroy Commissioned Officers” or VCOs sometime after 1858. 4 Native Officers—hereafter called Indian Officers in this book—provided the crucial liaison between sepoys and their British officers, and were the eyes and ears of the latter in their command relations with the former. However, they could not command above platoon level, were mostly illiterate, and though saluted by Indian rank and file, were not accorded a similar honor by British other ranks. Needless to say, Indian Officers were always subordinate to the juniormost British subaltern, fresh off the boat from the United Kingdom. 5 In 1917, this began to change. On August 20 of that year, Sir Edwin Montagu, in his capacity as Secretary of State for India, declared at Westminster that his government had “decided that the bar which has hitherto precluded the admission of Indians to commissioned rank in His Majesty’s 1

2

Introduction

Army should be removed.” 6 This declaration ushered in the official AngloIndian policy which came to be known as the Indianization of the Indian Army’s officer corps. The term “Indianization” itself seems to have been first used by the veteran Indian politician Hriday Nath Kunzru in 1917. 7 In this book, it will be used as a convenient shorthand: to write “the admission of Indians into the higher officer grade of the Indian Army in the same ranks as British officers,” which is how it was commonly referred to by Anglo-Indian officials, would be entirely too tiresome for the reader to wade through. Another important clarification is that this book is about the debate to Indianize the Indian Army’s combatant arms only. It is about neither the entry of Indians into the cadre of the non-combatant Indian Medical Service (IMS), for which they had been eligible since 1855, nor is it about the Indianization of the Indian Civil Service (ICS), which was an entirely different and distinct issue, with a different historical trajectory, and therefore only tangentially relevant to the subject of this book. 8 This book is also unapologetically military history, which, as a recent work demonstrates, has come a long way from the so-called “traditional” preoccupation with battles, campaigns and generalship that most professional historians still seem to characterize it as. 9 This book deepens our understanding by contributing not only to military history, but to the history of war and society, colonial Indian history, the history of imperialism, and to non-Western military history. Indianization already has amassed quite a sizeable body of historical writing. So, one might legitimately ask: why another book on it? The reason is that most of the published material is overwhelmingly biased temporally in favor of coverage and analysis of the Indian Army’s Indianization policy after it was formally adopted, but only reluctantly accepted, by the Raj in 1917. 10 The impression that the majority of works on Indianization give is that the 1917 decision to allow Indianization was tacked on, almost as an afterthought, to Edwin Montagu’s declaration extending a limited form of representative self-government to Indians. This is a misconception, which consistently overlooks, minimizes, and forgets that the 1917 decision was the product of a military policy debate—one that stretched, in one form or another, all the way back to 1817, when the Raj was still being erected. Therefore, Roy’s glib statement that “too much ink has been spilled over the stale debate on Indianization,” 11 is only partially true: the post-1917 Indianization debate is certainly “stale” and well-trodden, but its pre-1917 portion has hardly been probed by historians in a deep and systematic way. It is this forgotten debate that the present book uncovers. This book has four main aims. First, it conceptualizes the forgotten debate, and meticulously details its course, from its origins in the pre-1857 era, its graduation to a more precise and focused level in the 1880s, through to its partial settlement in 1917. Second, it contextualizes Indianization as a centrally important aspect of the military policy of the Raj within the wider

Introduction

3

intellectual, ideological, and societal considerations that underlay British imperial domination of India. Third, it sheds light on the formulation of military policy within a colonial setting and the political ramifications of these formulations. Finally, it seeks to demonstrate how the forgotten Indianization debate had a definitive influence upon Indianization policy in the fraught period between the two world wars of the last century. The book thus breaks new ground by filling a gap that has for too long existed in the historiography of the Indian Army particularly and Anglo-India generally. To date, four monographs have partially dealt with the forgotten pre-1917 Indianization debate. Except for one, which examines a strictly delimited part of the nineteenth century, and which treats Indianization narrowly as an administrative problem, they subsume it within the unfolding of post-1917 Indianization policy. Therefore, their examination of the pre-1917 debate is neither detailed nor nuanced. One author goes so far as to erroneously characterize the forgotten debate as “cathartic.” 12 The present book demonstrates that the forgotten debate was slow, convoluted, and bedeviled by stoppages, delays, and tergiversation—very far indeed from being “the process of providing psychological relief through the open expression of strong emotions” 13 that the word “cathartic” implies. This author does not adequately deal with the Anglo-Indian ideology which underpinned the forgotten Indianization debate, and is wrong to argue that the Imperial Cadet Corps (ICC) was “ . . . unconnected to the mainstream of Indianization.” 14 The sheer volume of official and unofficial ink spilled on the question of the fate of the ICC in the context of Indianization, which the present book details, gives lie to this assertion. Of the two remaining monographs, one, by a retired Indian Army officer, while broadly satisfactory, is limited by not having access to UK archives, and by not being contextually sophisticated. The other is erroneously based on a fundamental confusion, and adds little to our understanding. 15 Indianization’s centrality in Anglo-Indian ideology—the nature of which will be fully explained below—and as a question of military policy before 1917 is demonstrated by the fact that it garnered the attention of the highest echelons of Anglo-Indian officialdom, as well as that of some influential sectors of Indian opinion. The elite social background of the parties and individuals who engaged in this debate—be they Anglo-Indian, British, Indian aristocrats, or the emerging Indian “middle-classes” 16—and the fact that it deals with military policy, requires this book to be unabashedly “topdown” in approach. Every debate must, by definition, have at its heart a question or a set of questions: points over which opinions differ and discussions emerge as the issues raised are thrashed out, sometimes amicably, and sometimes acrimoniously. The forgotten Indianization debate was no exception. Two fundamental questions animated it. The first of these revolved around whether or not

4

Introduction

Indians were equal to Britons in terms of their aptitude and ability for military leadership. The second, which was predicated on the first—and therefore, inseparable from it—was that if Indians were indeed capable of the same level of military leadership as were Britons, how then were they to be integrated into the military system of the Raj in ways that would not endanger the continued health of British rule over their Indian Empire? During the course of the debate, the implications arising from these two questions resolved themselves into a set of subsidiary questions that the myriad Indianization schemes advanced and debated in the period under study. There were seven of these: existence; legitimacy; powers of command; postings; prestige; military efficiency; and location of training. The most important of these questions will be revisited and discussed fully in the conclusion. That the parameters of the Indianization debate, and the twists and turns the discussions on the subject took, were, in large part, determined by British officials, demonstrates that Anglo-Indian ideology was neither monolithic nor straightforward. If it had been, it is doubtful whether the Indianization issue would have ever been debated in official circles. A useful framework for understanding the Indianization debate, and Anglo-Indian ideology in general, is the one proposed by the historian Thomas Metcalf in his book Ideologies of the Raj. Metcalf proceeds from the assumption that imperial powers, by their very nature, have to develop ideologies to justify their rule over colonial possessions, both to themselves and to their subject peoples. The Anglo-Indian colonial state was no exception. However, Anglo-Indian ideology was never a simple, coherent monolith of ideas. Rather, the ideas buttressing the British imperial enterprise in India were complex, and, at times, contradictory and inconsistent. Metcalf’s conceptualization argues that, at its heart, Anglo-Indian ideology was shaped by the two fundamental and opposing principles of “similarity” and “difference.” Metcalf postulates that there were times during the Raj when Britons thought Indians essentially similar to themselves, while at other times, Indians were depicted as ineradicably and irreconcilably different from Englishmen. 17 Particularly relevant to us is Metcalf’s assertion that, at times, AngloIndian ideology accommodated both similarity and difference. Though this mixing makes any attempt to arrive at an overall picture quite difficult, it is possible, nevertheless, to make a general periodization: during the Company Raj, varieties of similarity, such as Jones’s and Hastings’s Orientalism and Mill and Bentinck’s reformist Utilitarianism, 18 predominated Anglo-Indian ideology. These ideologues believed in a “radical universalism.” Thomas Babington Macaulay’s pronouncement in 1835 that the ultimate aim of British rule in India was the creation of a politically independent India based on British moral, political and legal precepts bespoke a belief in the innately similar aptitudes between Briton and Indian. In the minds of Macaulay and his ilk, the only difference between the two was that the “Indian mind” was a

Introduction

5

Lockean tabula rasa, a fertile field where the seeds of “superior” English culture, knowledge, and self-image could be profitably planted, nourished, and grown to maturity. 19 In contrast, during Crown rule, the differences between Briton and Indian were highlighted, to the point of becoming institutionalized, by ideologues such as James Fitzjames Stephen, Henry Maine, and Alfred Lyall. 20 Indians, far from being reasonable people and capable of assimilating “superior” British values and practices, were now characterized as incapable of improvement and “ . . . steeped in idolatrous superstition and ignorant to the last degree,” 21 A not insignificant measure of this view stemmed from the AngloIndian failure to comprehend why, during the “mutiny,” a large number of Indians had rejected British rule, the “obvious embodiment” of everything “modern” and “progressive.” 22 The tussle between these two competing and contesting ideals that comprised the basis of Anglo-Indian ideology is the best template with which to fully comprehend the subtlety and nuances of the century-long debate on Indianization, and the various schemes and counterschemes it generated. The other conceptual framework that this work will use as an explanatory tool is Ornamentalism. Devised by David Cannadine, Ornamentalism argues that British imperial ideology, insofar as it was a unified thing, was not exclusively about erecting “otherness” between the superior metropole and the different and inferior periphery; it was also about “the construction of affinities” based on the idea that societies on the imperial periphery were the same as, or in some cases, superior to, metropolitan society. Following on from this, Cannadine argues that the British empire “ . . . was about the . . . domestication of the exotic [other]—the comprehending and reordering of the [unfamiliar] foreign in parallel, analogous, equivalent, resemblant terms.” It was about folding the foreign into the hierarchical vision of society favored and championed by the British ruling classes. Cannadine argues that, “[u]nderstood in this way, as a conservative, traditional, ordered phenomenon, the British Empire was not exclusively about race or colour, but was also about class and status,” and all the pomp, honor, traditional order and subordination that went with it. This interpretation thus dovetails with the understanding, advanced by Joseph Schumpeter, that nineteenth-century European empires were impelled by “a shared sense of personal identity between the most atavistic social groups in Europe, seeking to escape from the travails of industry, democracy, and big cities, and [what they perceived to be] those traditional tribes and rulers overseas whom they resembled and found most sympathetic.” 23 Ornamentalism was thus a powerful image, which influenced a whole range of British imperial practices. It will be especially useful in understanding the Imperial Cadet Corps, which forms a central part of this book.

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Introduction

These concepts help explain the late-Victorian Anglo-Indian fascination with and affinity for “traditional India,” which they identified as the “village India” of the sturdy Indian peasant and landowner, and the “noble India” of the Indian princes and aristocracy, whom they saw as India’s “natural leaders.” This vision was essentially conservative. It believed in hierarchy, and sought to protect and preserve “traditional” hierarchies in the non-white empire against the urbanizing, industrializing, and democratizing influences that were fast transforming society in the British Isles. This is why it extolled and celebrated the Indian princes and aristocrats. This “aristocratism” was taken as a given by Anglo-India. Indeed, Lord Lytton, the Viceroy from 1875 to 1880, remarked to Queen Victoria in 1877 that “ . . . if we have . . . the princes, we shall have . . . the people.” 24 In this connection, one should also remember that the basic thrust of Disraeli’s famous Crystal Palace speech of 1872 was to lay out a conservative vision for Britain, in which the nobility and landed interests would protect, in a paternalistic manner, the lower classes against the thrusting brashness and individualism of liberalism. 25 If we transpose this vision to Anglo-Indian ideology of the late-Victorian and Edwardian periods, we find it fits, for the most part, with the babu class; standing in for the liberals except for the significant variation that the Indian nobility, not being as “wise” as the aristocracy back home, would be treated paternalistically as well. But, besides “similarity,” the flip side—“difference”—also operated. This enabled Anglo-Indian ideologues to set the Indian princes and aristocrats apart, and allowed officials to think that the princes would be satisfied with ostentation rather than real power and responsibility. This book consists of six chapters. Chapter 1 is short, and gives the necessary background to the debate. It has three foci: the command structure and its evolution; the development of officer training in the Army in India; and the patterns of recruitment and military collaboration in the Army in India. In particular, it explains Anglo-India’s hybrid military culture, interprets the martial races theory in a historically grounded way, and clarifies the bureaucratic process of military policymaking in Anglo-India. Chapter 2 traces the genesis of the idea of Indianization in the nineteenth century. This comprised three distinct phases. Phase 1 occurred before 1857, and consisted of concrete ideas about raising the status and command responsibilities of the Native Officer Class, and vague notions of higher commissions for Indians. Phase 2 revolved around the proposals of General Sir George Chesney in the 1880s to allow Indians officer commissions in the same grades as British officers, to train these officers at a facility in India, and to post these officers to “experimental” units. Phase 3, in the late 1890s, details the first Indian initiative regarding officer commissions for Indians that was seriously considered by both Whitehall and Calcutta—that of the Maharaja of Cooch Behar. The chapter examines in detail the reasons for the failure of all these

Introduction

7

in initiatives. Chapter 3 focuses on the Imperial Cadet Corps (ICC), which was the first scheme for Indianization to see the light of day. It is semithematic, and details the genesis of the ICC and assesses its pedagogy in terms of training and ideology, as well as what it was like to be an Imperial Cadet, as members were called. Chapter 4 considers the problems that arose in the Corps, which mainly centered around cadet recruitment and their employment once they had completed their stint there. These questions necessarily affected the future of the Corps, and this chapter closely examines the various schemes proposed to ameliorate the Corps’ situation, the debate they generated, and explains the reasons they foundered. As I remark at the end of this chapter, in 1914, Indianization seemed far off indeed. Chapter 5 details how the wholly unexpected stresses and strains of the First World War, and the equally unforeseen and unprecedented manpower contribution India made to the British imperial and Allied cause in that conflict, led to India Secretary Edwin Montagu’s announcement of August 20, 1917, adopting Indianization as official policy. It is the first account to pinpoint the subtle “window of opportunity” that enabled this to take place. Although the timespan of this work ends in 1917, chapter 6 briefly surveys the course of Indianization policy until 1945. This chapter demonstrates that the questions and considerations of the forgotten Indianization debate of the pre-1917 period determined, to a large extent, the unfolding of post-1917 Indianization policy. Given the sheer weight of empirical evidence gathered, synthesized and analyzed in this book, I contend that it will be hard to dispute the contention that Indianization policy was, to borrow a phrase from Claude Auchinleck, characterized by “little grace.” NOTES 1. Charles Roberts to Lord Crewe, 25 May 1915, para. 3, in BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19006. Charles H. Roberts (1865–1959) was Under-Secretary of State for India in 1914–1915 under Asquith. For his obituary, which contains a serviceable biography, see: The Times (London) 26 Jan. 1959. http://www.ghgraham.org/text/charleshenryroberts1865_obit.html (accessed 8 Mar. 2016). 2. The best short definition of who the Anglo-Indians were, is provided by Robert Stern: “The Anglo-Indians were a ruling aristocracy of (largely middle-class) British families in India. No less, they were as community of British families. They were not a landed aristocracy. They were an aristocratic meritocracy that ruled from positions of superior employment in the bureaucratic empire. Informally . . . they ruled . . . as an aristocratic community. The AngloIndians spoke each other’s language, and knew each other’s secrets, joined in each other’s games, tipped each other off and helped each other out, let their hair down in each other’s company and didn’t let the side down in the company of Indians, dined in each other’s bungalows and married each other’s children [and] referred to the same distant island as “‘home” . . . The daftar (office), and the club were connecting rooms in the house of British imperialism.” See: R.W. Stern, Changing India: Bourgeois Revolution on the Subcontinent, 2nd ed., (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), p. 139. “Anglo-Indian” only assumed its modern meaning, that is “of mixed Indian and European ethnicity,” post-independence. In colonial India, these people and their progeny were called “Eurasians.”

8

Introduction

3. George Gordon, Lord Byron, “The Prisoner of Chillon,” stanza 1, line 10, in Louis Untermeyer, (ed.), Story Poems: An Anthology of Narrative Verse, 12th edn., (New York: Doubleday, 1972), p. 199. 4. R.T.S. Chhina and T. McLenaghan, “The VCO: Origin and Development,” Durbar, 28(3), Autumn 2011, pp. 134–42. 5. R. Callahan and D. Marston, “Neglected Soldiers,” in A. Jeffreys (ed.), The Indian Army in the First World War: New Perspectives, (Solihill and New Delhi; Helion and The United Service Institution of India, 2018), p. 23. 6. G.B. Parliament, Debates (Commons), 1917, 5th Series, Vol. 17, col. 1696. 7. Kunzru used the term in the pamphlet The Public Services in India, (Allahabad: Servants of India Society, 1917). He wrote this pamphlet in response to the report of the Royal Commission on Public Services in India, 1915. I owe this reference to Dr. Aparajith Ramnath, Indian Institute of Management, Kozhikode, India. Kunzru, Hriday Nath (1887-1978), Indian politician: educated at Allahabad University and the London School of Economics; started out in the Congress, but in 1919 became a founding member of the National Liberal Federation; member, United Provinces Assembly, 1921; Member, Central Legislative Assembly, 1926-1930; Member Lok Sabha (lower house of Independent India’s parliament) 1950-1952; Member Rajya Sabha (upper house); as part of his interests in nation-building and international and military affairs, helped found the Indian scouting movement, the National Cadet Corps, the National Defence College and the Indian Council of World Affairs. See: M.S. Rajan, “Pandit Hriday Nath Kunzru: a Memoir,” India Quarterly, 34(4), Oct.-Dec., 1978. 8. The IMS was established in 1764, members being both King’s Commissioned Officers and civil surgeons. The throwing open of the IMS to Indians did not result in a wholesale influx: in 1907, only 15 of 389 IMS officers were Indian. See: Lt. Col. D.A. Crawford, comp., Roll of the Indian Medical Service, (Calcutta: Thacker, Spink & Co., 1930). For the Indianization of the ICS, see: D. Potter, India’s Political Administrators, 1919–1983, (Oxford: Clarendon, 1986); R.P. Sikka, “The Indianization of the Uncovenanted Civil Service” Indian Archives, 34(1), 1985; S. Niyogi, “Henry Fawcett versus the Imperial Lobby,” Quarterly Review of Historical Studies, 26(2), 1986; and J.M. Compton, “Indians and the Indian Civil Service, 1853–1879,” Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society of Great Britain and Ireland, 3–4, 1967. 9. A recent and otherwise excellent work on historiography by an eminent social historian still stereotypes military history as “written by generals . . . [and] . . . hopelessly narrow and ignorant of the wider social, political and diplomatic aspects of the subject,” and then cites as its sole example a British general and military thinker who died in 1966! Even then, this overlooks the fact that, in one of his later works, this very general included a chapter on the influences of the industrial revolution and Karl Marx upon modern warfare, showing an awareness of the social dimensions of warfare. See: R.J. Evans, In Defence of History, new edn., (London: Granta, 2000), p. 214; and J.F.C. Fuller, The Conduct of War, 1789–1961: A Study of the Impact of the French, Industrial, and Russian Revolutions on War and its Conduct, (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1961). A corrective to Evans is the excellent collection on the varieties of military history: M. Hughes and W.J. Philpott (eds), Palgrave Advances in Modern Military History, (Houndmills: Palgrave Macmillan, 2006). Particularly relevant to the present book are the essays by Neiberg (pp. 42–60), Stanley (pp. 214–230), and Vandervort (pp. 195–213). None of the essays in this volume are penned by generals. 10. See: V. Longer, Red Coats to Olive Green, (Bombay: Allied Publishers, 1974); S.P. Cohen, The Indian Army: Its Contribution to the Development of a Nation, (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1971); P. Mason, A Matter of Honour: An Account of the Indian Army, its Officers, and Men, (London: Macmillan, 1974); B. Farwell, Armies of the Raj, from the Great Indian Mutiny to Independence: 1858–1947, (New York: Norton, 1989); S.L. Menezes, Fidelity and Honour: The Indian Army from the Seventeenth to the Twenty-First Century, (New Delhi: Viking 1993); A. Kundu, Militarism in India: The Army and Civil Society in Consensus, (New Delhi: Sage, 1998); David Omissi, The Sepoy and the Raj: The Indian Army, 1860–1940, (Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1994); W. Gutteridge, “The Indianization of the Indian Army, 1918–1945,” in Race, 4(2), May 1963; A. Sharpe, “The Indianization of the Indian Army,” History Today, March, 1986; P.S. Gupta, “The Army, Politics and Constitutional Change in

Introduction

9

India, 1919–1939” in P.S. Gupta, Power, Politics and the People: Studies in British imperialism and Indian Nationalism, (ed.), S. Bhattacharya, (London: Anthem, 2002); P.S. Gupta, “The Debate on Indianization, 1918–39,” in P.S. Gupta and Anirudh Deshpande (eds), The British Raj and its Indian Armed Forces, 1857–1939, (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2002); A. Deshpande, “Contested Identities and Military Indianization in Colonial India, 1900–1939,” in K. Roy (ed.), War and Society in Colonial India, 1807–1945, (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2006); A. Deshpande, British Military Policy in India, 1900–1945: Colonial Constraints and Declining Power, (New Delhi: Sage, 2005); D.C. Ellinwood, “The Indianization of the Indian Army’s Officer Corps” (paper delivered at the 16th Annual Conference on South Asia, University of Wisconsin-Madison, 1987); and M.H. Jacobsen, “The Modernization of the Indian Army, 1925–1939” (unpub. PhD thesis, University of California, Irvine, 1979). The only detailed investigations of the pre-1917 forgotten debate are my own: “Preventing Idleness”: The Maharaja of Cooch Behar’s Proposal for Officer Commissions in the British Army for the Sons of Indian Princes and Gentlemen, 1897–1898,” South Asia, new series, 18(1), June 1995,; “Reviving a ‘Dead Letter’: Military Indianization and the Ideology of Anglo-India, 1885–1891,” in P.S. Gupta and A. Deshpande (eds), The British Raj and Its Indian Armed Forces, 1857–1939, (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2002); “‘Treated with Scant Attention’: The Imperial Cadet Corps, Indian Nobles, and Anglo-Indian Policy, 1897–1917” in Journal of Military History, Vol. 77, no. 1, Jan. 2013, 11. K. Roy, The Army in British India: From Colonial Warfare to Total War, 1857–1947, (London: Bloomsbury, 2013), p. 102. 12. Hira Lal Singh, Problems and Policies of the British in India, 1885–1898, (Bombay: Asia Publishing House, 1963); Pradeep Barua, The Army Officer Corps and Military Modernisation in Later Colonial India, (Hull: University of Hull Press, 1999). This book was later republished verbatim, as Gentlemen of the Raj: The Indian Army Officer Corps, 1817-1949, (Westport: Praeger, 2003). 13. J. Pearsall (ed.), The New Oxford Dictionary of English (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998), p. 289. 14. Barua, Gentlemen, p. 30. 15. G. Sharma, Nationalisation of the Indian Army, 1885–1947, (New Delhi: Allied, 1996); and M. Creese, Swords Trembling in their Scabbards: The Changing Status of Indian Officers in the Indian Army, 1757–1947, (Solihull: Helion, 2015). 16. See the essays in: S. Joshi (ed.), The Middle Class in Colonial India, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010). 17. T.R. Metcalf, Ideologies of the Raj, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995?), pp. x–xi. 18. J. Majeed, Ungoverned Imaginings, James Mill’s History of British India and Orientalism, (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1992), pp. 11–46, passim. 19. Metcalf, Ideologies, pp. 33–35. 20. Ibid., p. x; See also: Francis Hutchins, The Illusion of Permanence: British Imperialism in India, (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1967), passim.; N.B. Dirks, Castes of Mind: Colonialism and the Making of Modern India, (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2001); J. Leopold, “The Aryan Theory of Race,” Indian Economic and Social History Review, 7(2), 1970; and J. F. Stephen, “The Government of India” Nineteenth Century, 80, October, 1883. 21. J.F. Stephen, letter to the editor, The Times (London), 4 Jan., 1878. 22. M. Biddiss, “Progress, Prosperity, and Positivism: Cultural Trends at Mid-Century,” in B. Waller (ed.), Themes in Modern European History, 1830–1890, (London: Unwin Hyman, 1990), pp. 91–5. 23. D. Cannadine, Ornamentalism: How the British Saw their Empire, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), pp. xix–126; D. Cannadine, “Introduction: Divine Rites of Kings,” in D. Cannadine and S. Price (eds), Rituals of Royalty: Power and Ceremonial in Traditional Societies, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987); and J. Schumpeter, Imperialism and Social Classes, (New York: A. Kelly: 1951), pp. 83–84; 128; 195–197; 203. 24. D. Cannadine, Ornamentalism, pp. 67; 138. A sign of increasing democratization in Britain was that Lord Salisbury, who was to be the last British Prime Minister to govern from

10

Introduction

the House of Lords, vacated the Prime Ministership in 1903, when the Corps was in its infancy. As Lord Cranbourne, Salisbury had been Disraeli’s India Secretary in the 1870s. 25. B. Porter, The Lion’s Share: a Short History of British Imperialism, 1850–1983, 2nd ed., (London: Longman, 1984), p. 69; Mr. Disraeli at Sydenham, The Times, (London) 25 June 1872, http://www.bl.uk/reshelp/findhelprestype/news/digproj/database/index.htm, (accessed 13 May. 2014).

Chapter One

Contexts of the Forgotten Indianization Debate, 1600–1914

Whatever we might think of the slightly self-congratulatory old saw that the British empire was acquired in a “fit of absence of mind,” we must agree with David Omissi that “it was not acquired with an absence of [armed] force.” Britain’s Raj in India is a prime example of “this pattern of violent dominance.” 1 Like it or not, the means by which a private trading firm (the English East India Company or EIC), from smallish isles (Britain) lying off what the historian Clive Ponting terms the European sub-continent, 2 managed, in roughly the span of a single century, to dominate and control a vast, varied and much more populous land with a much more ancient civilization (India), was primarily and undeniably military. The EIC’s main instrument for this task was the Indian Army—or, as it was until its unification in 1895, the three Presidency Armies of Bengal, Madras, and Bombay. This military fact was recognized by Anglo-Indian ideologues of both the Company and Crown periods of British rule over India, and confirms what Douglas Peers has conceptualized as “Anglo-Indian militarism.” 3 As one of the most eminent Company officials contended in the 1820s, “Our government of . . . [India] is essentially military, and our means of improving our possessions through the operation of our civil institutions depend on the wise and politic exercise of that military power on which that whole fabric rests.” 4 Some sixty years later, a high-ranking member of the Indian Civil Service posited a remarkably similar sentiment—that British military power in India formed the foundation upon which Anglo-Indian civil institutions and administration rested, and the security provided by military power enabled the Raj to “ . . . offer the natives of India a large share in the civil administration of the country.” 5 11

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The key to English military success in India was the creation of a hybrid military culture which fused European military practice with certain Indian traditions and conditions. This proved highly effective. Asymmetric warfare resulted, as indigenous Indian polities experienced great difficulty countering and adapting to the new and unfamiliar doctrine. 6 Indian military culture at the time of the “Indo-British encounter” was, like the structure of the Indian polities of the day, segmented. This meant that authority, rather than being concentrated in the hands of a single monarch, was diffused among many levels. To retain authority over a large population and its revenue, Indian kings relied on regional potentates, who in turn relied on local chieftains. 7 Indian armies of this period usually came into being when kings and nobles formed political alliances. A dominant Indian ruler’s army therefore comprised a number of separate armies, which were led by noble commanders who recruited and maintained them, and owed direct allegiance to the dominant ruler. Those who commanded large forces—which were overwhelmingly cavalry-based—engaged subordinate officers, who were usually drawn from family members. Therefore, with the possible exception of the Mansabdari system instituted by Akbar (1553–1605), a uniform structure of command and control to direct these independent units did not develop. Thus, pre-colonial Indian armies resembled war-bands led by individual leaders rather than regular armies. This meant that the soldier’s loyalty was to the individual leader, rather than to the ruler or the polity. In Indic societies, the soldier’s individual identity and skill as a warrior was valorized and celebrated. Soldiers, therefore, were not trained to act collectively. Once battle was joined, most combat was hand-to-hand. As a consequence, armies were tactically unwieldy, and incapable of sophisticated maneuvers. Strategically, conquests usually involved a dominant or insurgent polity successfully suborning a lesser chief, as opposed to overtly overthrowing him and annexing his territory. Therefore, bribery and negotiation were integral elements of military strategy. 8 European military culture of the day, which the English internalized, was very different. It was the product of changes that have collectively been termed “the military revolution.” 9 Essentially, over a period of 200 years (1500–1700 CE), Europeans developed an infantry-based military culture grounded primarily on man-portable firearms. These were the latest in a line of weapons, like the longbow and the pike, which spelled the end of the horse-mounted armored medieval knight as an effective force on the European field of battle. Early firearms, though much inferior to human-powered missile weapons such as the longbow in terms of rate of fire and penetrative power, nevertheless had one key advantage: whereas effective use of the longbow required at least five years of training, it only took a matter of weeks to instruct a soldier to efficiently load and fire an early firearm, such as the arquebus. Early small arms were cumbersome and complicated to load,

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13

requiring many precise movements. They also had a short range, and were quite inaccurate. To load and fire an arquebus at enemy cavalry thundering full-tilt over open ground toward him, required the musketeer to have considerable intestinal fortitude and “absolutely automatic physical discipline.” This was imparted to him through drill; the purpose of which was to enable the soldier to load, aim, and fire his weapon in unison with his fellow soldiers, mechanically, as if by second nature. Drill also imparted the ability to deploy and maneuver on the battlefield. As William McNeill notes, “[t]he perfection of their drill gave European armies [a] unique formidability and flexibility at short range and for . . . [the] . . . few hours of battle.” 10 By the early 18th century, the infantry battalion of between 800–1000 men had become the basic tactical unit of European armies. For even greater maneuverability on the battlefield, battalions were subdivided into companies, each under a captain. The nomenclature and the rank were most probably appropriations from the Renaissance, when captains organized and led mercenary companies. The demands of fire-discipline led to the creation of sub-units such as platoons and sections, each commanded by an officer. 11 The EIC, as well as the other European companies operating in India— most notably the French Compagnie des Indes (CdI)—saw armed trade as integral to their operations. 12 As early as 1661, for example, Charles II empowered the EIC to make war or peace with “any prince not Christian.” 13 Besides troops brought over from Europe, or locally recruited Europeans, the rival companies recruited local Indians. These local armed detachments were tasked with: the safeguarding of goods; the lending of some pomp and display to the company’s factors doing business with Indian merchants and rulers; and the protection of caravans going up-country from factories. 14 This last duty was not a particular indication of Indian “lawlessness,” as guarding merchant convoys traveling along main turnpikes from the depredations of highwaymen was one of the main functions of the contemporaneous army of Restoration and Georgian England. 15 In the first half of the 18th century, this changed. Mughal power rapidly declined and various regional successor states, such as the Marathas, the Sikhs, the Nawabis of Awadh and Bengal, and the Nizami of Hyderabad began jockeying to fill the ensuing power vacuum. To enhance their position, the EIC and the CdI, though still confined to their tiny coastal enclaves, involved themselves in this geopolitical chess game. This led to the exponential growth of their armed forces, which, besides being essential for their expansionist agendas, were important bargaining chips in their relations with Indian kingdoms. 16 Initially, manpower was a problem. There was a shortage of available European soldiery and, whatever European manpower there was to be had proved very susceptible to myriad Indian pathogens. This was solved by tapping into the vast reservoir of military manpower then existing in northern

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Chapter 1

India. A critical mass of the north Indian peasantry was armed, and north India was generally militarized. For example, the chronicler Abu’l Fazl states that in the 1590s, the Subahs (provinces) of the Mughal Empire could muster 342,696 horse and 4,039,097 foot. Given that India’s population at the time has been estimated at approximately 140 million, such totals are entirely plausible. Moreover, Indian peasantry were cheap to employ relative to Europeans, fully adapted to the Indian climate and relatively immune to the tropical diseases that killed Europeans like flies. Most importantly, they possessed a working familiarity with the primitive firearms of the day. According to a European traveler in 1650, every village in the Agra region, roughly 200 miles south of Delhi, was fortified. Village cultivators there shouldered their banduqs (muskets) and powder while plowing, and disliked the hakim (tax or revenue collector) so much that payments seldom happened without a fight. And there is evidence that some of these peasants had a rudimentary knowledge of a form of drill: “ . . . women stood behind their husbands with spears and arrows. When the husband shot off his matchlock, his wife handed him the lance, while she reloaded the matchlock.” Although armed peasant resistance to local or central authority was common, so was armed collaboration with that authority. Indian peasants habitually hired themselves out to the armed contingents of local lords, and saw seasonal military service as an integral part of their livelihood. 17 Some of the more enterprising peasantry used their military service as a means of upward social mobility. Stewart Gordon has shown how this may have occurred. A peasant cultivator family would first enter into the service of a local chief, which would heighten its status in relation to other peasant families. If the family served competently, it would be given land to administer, which would involve it in revenue collection. Collecting revenue signified a further rise in status, and a concomitant increase in the family’s power and influence within local society. Simultaneous with acquiring this, the family would seek legitimation of its new status by acquiring its own traditions. These would be based on perceived aristocratic behavior, such as hunting and martial traditions. The family would also employ genealogists to construct family trees that would confirm its Rajput warrior status. “Ageold” military traditions could thus be invented. 18 Another feature of the Indian military manpower exchange important for our study is the rise, from the 1490s on, of the Jamadar or independent mercenary contractor. Essentially functioning like the contemporaneous European condottieri, each jamadar raised his own men, who were responsible for their own equipment. Their terms of service varied, based on the equipment each possessed: “ . . . thus in the infantry a man who hath his own . . . good firelock . . . receives more monthly pay than one with a matchlock.” 19 It was these jamadars that the EIC and CdI initially relied upon to raise, maintain and officer their “native” forces.

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15

The raising of sepoy armies by the European companies was given an important impetus by the discovery of a revolutionary idea in the Indian context: that small detachments of sepoys, trained and disciplined in the latest infantry-centric European tactical doctrine, could meet and defeat the much larger armies of the Indian kingdoms in set-piece battles. The efficacy of sepoy armies was demonstrated as early as October 1746, when, at the Battle of the Adyar River, a CdI force, led by Dupleix 20 and consisting of 300 Frenchmen and 700 sepoys, routed the much larger army of the Nawab of Carnatic. Subsequent Anglo-French warfare in southern India in this period meant that, to survive, the EIC had to adopt a military doctrine identical to that of the CdI. Incessant warfare with the French and the Indian kingdoms resulted in the rapid growth of the Company’s sepoy/sowar forces, from approximately 9,000 in 1765, to about 155,000 in 1808, to over 200,000 in 1856—easily “one of the world’s largest European-style standing armies.” Yet we must remember that the EIC’s military prowess was not that far ahead of that of the Indian polities, and that English military superiority over them was never a given: it required four wars to defeat Hyder and Tipu, three wars to subdue the Marathas, a war to crush the Nepalis, two hard-fought wars to destroy the Sikh kingdom, and three wars—the last in 1885–1886— to bring Burma completely under the Raj. 21 Officering also dramatically changed. In the pre-1740s period, the EIC avoided appointing well-born and gentlemanly men to officer its armed forces, on the assumption that these classes of men would be more inclined to involve the EIC in unwanted military adventurism. But serious military competition from the French and the “country powers,” made the EIC officials in India realize that their military forces were in dire need of esprit de corps, a real officer corps, and a command structure. In 1748, the EIC removed the Presidency armies from the control of the civilian presidents, and placed them under the command of three officers seconded from the half-pay lists of the British Home Army—one for each Presidency Army. In addition, Major Stringer Lawrence 22 was appointed Commander-in-Chief (CinC) of all the Company’s military forces. The EIC now began actively recruiting officer cadets from the well-born, that is, “gentlemanly” classes of Britain. These cadets were all appointed by the EIC, and were usually very young—averaging 18 to 20 years of age. Cadets were required to pass an often-cursory examination. Company officers received no training in England; rather, upon arriving in India, they would undergo a four-month training period with their regiment before being granted a full commission. In reality, this depended to a large extent on the availability of officers. If there happened to be a shortage, cadets received full commissions upon their arrival in India; likewise, if there was an over-supply, the full training period was adhered to, and the EIC reduced the number of appointments made. 23

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Chapter 1

To improve the actual military efficiency of its forces, the EIC offered commissions to Royal Army officers whose regiments were being transferred home—Royal Army units being posted intermittently to India from the 1670s and regularly from the mid-1750s—as well as to those Royal officers whose units were being disbanded. It was thought that these officers, most of whom had seen operational service in European wars, would provide military expertise to the fledgling Presidency Armies, as well as bolstering morale. To make service with the Company forces more attractive to Royal officers, one of the provisions of the British Mutiny Act of 1754 stipulated that they would henceforth outrank Company officers of the same rank. The primary aim of this was to stiffen the Presidency Armies with experienced officers. Another source of officers in this period was the ranks of the Company’s European Non-Commissioned Officers (NCOs). This usually happened when “gentlemen” were found in the NCO ranks, and were commissioned immediately because of their “superior” social class, and as rewards for conspicuous gallantry in the field. The latter was far more common, since the Company was involved in constant warfare during the last half of the 18th century. 24 Despite the slow rate of promotion, which was based on seniority—by the 1780s, it took an average of thirty years for a subaltern to attain a colonelcy, which was then the highest officer rank in the Presidency armies—service with the officer corps of the Company’s military forces proved popular. Unlike the practice then prevalent in the officer corps of the Royal Army, candidates for officer commissions did not have to purchase them. Every subaltern had, in theory, an equal chance at becoming, in due time, the senior colonel in any of the Presidency Armies. Thus, a Presidency Army’s higher officer corps was open to men without “interest . . . a peculiarly eighteenth century term, blending birth and what today would be called connections.” 25 The year 1758 saw the introduction of battalion organization in the Presidency Armies. Each battalion was commanded by a European captain and European subalterns commanded each company within it. For the command of companies and platoons, the Company came to rely on a subordinate class of Indian Officers. This class performed an important role in the Company’s Indian battalions, for it was the essential element by which European officers maintained command control and communication functions with the Indian ranks. The Indian officer class also provided a useful avenue of advancement for the more ambitious and military-minded sepoys. There were two Indian officer grades: the Subedar, who was roughly equivalent to a captain, and was second-in-command of a company; and the Jemadar, who corresponded to a lieutenant, and commanded a platoon. Indian officers were also required for the cavalry units the Company raised from 1762 onwards. Rissaldars or Ressaidars corresponded to Subedars in the infantry, and commanded halfsquadrons of cavalry. Below the Indian officer class were the Indian noncommissioned officers (INCOs). In Indian infantry companies, these were

Contexts of the Forgotten Indianization Debate, 1600–1914

17

the Havildars (sergeants), the Naik (Corporals), and the Lance-naiks (lancecorporals). In the cavalry, the Kot Daffadar was the senior INCO of the regiment, and the Daffadars were the sergeants. There also existed at this time the special rank of Native Commandant—who acted as advisor to the European commanding officer. This was a holdover from the pre-1750 days, when Indians commanded Indian units. In 1785, when the EIC’s military position in India had become fairly secure, the post of Native Commandant was abolished, and Native Commandants were given the option either of retiring with a pension, or reverting to the rank of subedar. 26 However, in 1817–19, this rank was reintroduced into all the Presidency Armies, albeit with the designation “Subedar-Major.” Longer states that this was done to recognize the sepoys’ services, and to open up better career incentives to them. 27 Yet it might possibly have been due to the outright need of British officers commanding companies for a senior subedar to be on hand to advise them on discipline and other matters concerning the Indian rankand-file, who were, despite all the romantic Raj nostalgia that later arose, essentially linguistically and culturally alien to them. In contrast to the EIC’s “European” officers, lndian officers did not receive direct commissions. Rather, all of them began their military careers as sepoys in the infantry and sowars in the cavalry. This meant that they spent the whole of their professional lives attached to the same regiment, rising up through the ranks to first attain the non-commissioned officer grades, and then, if they stayed on, the Indian officer grades. Since promotion was based on strict seniority, advancement was slow. In the Bengal Infantry, for example, sepoys who joined at the age of 16 became Naiks after 20 years, Havildars 15 years after that, Jemadars 9 years after that, and Subedars 6 years later. This meant that most Subedars were in their sixties. 28 An aspect of the growing professionalization of British society in the 18th and early 19th centuries was the training of army officers. This saw the creation of the Royal Military Academy Woolwich in 1741 for artillery officers, and the Royal Military Academy Sandhurst in the period 1798–1812, for cavalry and infantry officers. The EIC also followed this trend, as “ . . . only five percent of the whole [officer cadre] had any elementary or professional education at the universities or the large public schools.” In 1809, the EIC established a military seminary at Barasat, near Calcutta, at which all English cadets newly arrived in Bengal were to be instructed in Indian languages and military science. But due to a combination of indiscipline—the cadets were more interested in drinking, gambling, whoring, and terrorizing local Indians, than in learning the officer’s trade—and staff shortages, which exacerbated the situation, Barasat closed within three years. 29 Even before this, the Company moved to establish a military seminary in England, which was located at Addiscombe, a mile east of Croydon, in what is now south London. Instruction at Addiscombe centered on the scientific

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subjects deemed necessary for service with the artillery or engineers: mathematics, fortification, surveying, languages and sketching. Over its existence, some alterations were made to Addiscombe, and its curriculum. In 1815, for instance, it was decided to send Addiscombe cadets to an engineering school at Chatham, where they would be instructed in “ . . . the practical aspects of mining.”After the final defeat of the Marathas, when the demand for EIC artillery and engineer officers was declining, the Company resolved that the Addiscombe course should be opened to all branches of the Company’s military. Accordingly, the number of places at Addiscombe was increased to 80, and a ranking system was introduced. Only those graduating in the top ten of their class became eligible for commissions in the engineers; those graduating with second-class marks were commissioned in the artillery; and those with the lowest grades were commissioned in the infantry. Cavalry officers entered the EIC’s military forces by direct commissions. They were tested orally by a board of examiners, and, if they passed, were sent directly out to India, bypassing Addiscombe altogether. The great majority of the EIC’s officers took this route. 30 To qualify for entry into Addiscombe, a candidate was required to take an examination where he would be tested in the following ways. His English comprehension and handwriting were to be assessed through a dictation test. There was also a classical language component, where the candidate was to construe and read Caesar’s Commentaries. Candidates were also required to know the arithmetical rules then taught in schools. After 1851, all candidates who wished to receive direct commissions in the Company’s military had to take a general admission test. Curiously, since the test was for service in India, its syllabus privileged Western learning. Even the Hindustani language was relegated to optional status, and knowledge of India was not covered at all. 31 Addiscombe’s curriculum was heavily scientific, in keeping with its origins as a military engineering school. Mathematics was by far the predominant subject, taking up 22 of the 54 classroom hours per week. No less a figure than Sir Henry Lawrence—whom we shall encounter in greater detail in the following chapter—thought the time spent on mathematics could have been better spent teaching something of greater utility to the cadets, such as military science, strategy, tactics, and military history. Hindi instruction at Addiscombe also left a lot to be desired, and was in no way helped by the instructors’ incompetence. For example, Charles Bowles was a mere youth of 19 when he became Assistant Professor of Hindi. His appointment was not secured because of his precocity, but solely because he was the nephew of John Shakespear, Addiscombe’s first Hindi professor. Academic standards at Addiscombe were not rigorous. The seminary’s monthly reports on mathematics and classics for the period 1851-61 reveal that every cadet was making “great” or “very great” progress. 32

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Throughout Addiscombe’s existence, the EIC was ever-concerned about the character of the cadets admitted to the two-year officer-training course at the college. In 1833, it ruled that admission to Addiscombe would be denied to any person who had been expelled from Sandhurst, Woolwich, or any other public institution “ . . . for immoral or ungentleman-like conduct.” In addition, the Court stipulated that persons who had been so dismissed would be ineligible for direct commissions in the EIC’s military service. This was undoubtedly an effort to curb the rowdiness of the cadets, which manifested itself in frequent brawling with the local townspeople. In 1839, Addiscombe cadets were banned from the Croydon fair after they had instigated a serious riot. Twelve years later, an Addiscombe cadet was expelled from the school “for heading a band of twenty or thirty cadets in the town” of Croydon, and assaulting and terrorizing people there. 33 Military expenditure claimed by far the largest portion of the Raj’s budget. In 1856, an eminent EIC official estimated military expenditure at £11 million a year, or nearly half of Indian revenues, and the rise in military expenditure over the previous 20 years had clearly outstripped the rise in the Company’s net revenue over the same period. This showed no sign of lessening during the Crown Raj, when spending on the military generally stood at 40% of annual budgets, soaring to well over 50% when India was at war. Moreover, section 67A of the Government of India Act, 1919, preserved the sanctity of the Raj by explicitly excluding the military budget from interpellation (interrogation) by the Central Legislative Assembly created by the Act. 34 This was clearly designed to stymie the efforts of the assembly’s elected Indian members, for whom the Indian budget remained a key issue. In any case, by 1929, such restrictions seemed to have fallen away. Because it was a searing touchstone of the Anglo-Indian worldview, and was constantly dredged up by Indianization’s opponents to bolster their arguments, it behooves us to briefly touch upon the Uprising of 1857, which Anglo-India simply knew as “the Mutiny.” As general background, three things are important to know about the Uprising: that it was more than a military “mutiny” and less than a “first war of independence”; that it was not one uprising, but many; and that it was “ . . . the only time in the [nineteenth] century when a native army trained by Europe rose up against its masters” in a wholesale fashion. It was also a profound and traumatic shock for AngloIndia. Indian units of the EIC’s armies had mutinied before: most notably at Vellore in 1806, Barrackpore in 1824, and the Sind in 1844. What made the 1857 Uprising such a “close-run thing” for the British was that, despite some earlier warning, it took them by near-complete surprise. Nearly all the Indian units of the Bengal Army—the largest Presidency Army, constituting about half of all the sepoys the Company had under arms—mutinied. If this weren’t enough, the Uprising was accompanied by a widespread civil revolt, centering on Bihar, Central India and the “north-western provinces,” comprising

20

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Awadh and the Ganga-Yamuna doab (the region between two rivers). These were precisely the places the Bengal Army relied on heavily for its sepoy manpower. Indeed, from May 1857 until well into 1858, the EIC lost civil/ military control over a vast swathe of their possessions, from Saharanpur in the northwest, to nearly Nagpur in central India, and to Dinajpur in the east. 35 In the years immediately prior to the Uprising, EIC officials exhibited considerable hubris in their policies toward Indians. Consider the following: Dalhousie’s “Doctrine of Lapse,” a ruse enabling the EIC’s avaricious annexation of Indian polities whose succession it deemed illegitimate; the EIC’s summary settlement of 1856, which dispossessed the Taluqdars in Awadh, who became the disaffected leaders of revolt there; the abolition of Batta (foreign allowance) for Bengal Army sepoys serving outside their home areas; the General Service Enlistment order, which ended the practice whereby Bengal Army sepoys were exempted from service overseas, except on a volunteer basis; the Bengal sepoys’ fears that their near-monopoly of military employment was being eroded by the increasing recruitment of Punjabis; and finally, the greased cartridge controversy. All of these were seen by Bengal Army sepoys as a grand Angrezi conspiracy to subjugate and Christianize north India. When factors such as the increasing alienation between the Bengal sepoys and their “officer Sa’abs”—the feeling that the latter had become insensitive to the “true world of the sepoy, which exist[ed] right under their very noses”—and the increasing absenteeism of the latter from their units, were added to the mix, a violent uprising was well-nigh inevitable. 36 For the purposes of this book, the Uprising is important for its effect upon Anglo-Indian attitudes and the future military policy of the Raj. Accounts of Indian atrocities—most notably those at the Satichaura Ghat and the Bibigarh in Cawnpore—fanned irresponsibly by the yellow press—inflamed English opinion, and turned the conflict into something approaching a race war, where Indians were given no quarter. Depravity bred depravity on both sides. The Anglo-Indian perception that “black, lustful, uncontrolled and deceitful” Indian men committed sexualized violence and murder against English women—the “saintly white angels of middle-class respectability”—rendered any Indian claim to civilizational and racial similarity with Britons thoroughly illegitimate in British eyes. Furthermore, it created a siege mentality among many Anglo-Indians. Nigel Collett perceptively observes that the fears the “Mutiny” created in Anglo-Indian minds transmogrified into the notion that the most important task of the Raj was the maintenance of British prestige. Fraternization with Indians was deemed only possible at the expense of prestige, and therefore was “to be avoided at all costs . . . [generating an] . . . insularity [which] encouraged ill-manners, arrogance, and even physical brutality towards . . . Indians.” 37

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The Uprising affected the Indian Army in significant ways. The events of 1857–1858 significantly retarded the acceptance of the Indianization of the Indian Army’s officer corps. The reason for this is obvious. The Uprising was a very close call for the British, and Anglo-Indians adduced that one of the main reasons the sepoys and their allies lost was that, for the most part, they lacked the command skills to plan at tactical and strategic levels. These capabilities were the exclusive preserve of the British officer cadre. Therefore, in Anglo-Indian thinking, it was feared that if Indians were allowed into the higher officer cadre they would learn these skills, and would become even more “dangerous” in the event of another rebellion. This particular sentiment colored official Anglo-Indian thinking for a long time indeed. In 1919, sixty-one years after the Uprising, and barely a year after Indians had been admitted into the King’s Commissioned ranks of the Indian Army, Viceroy Lord Chelmsford, in a missive to the then India Secretary Edwin Montagu, voiced his strong opposition to the idea of allowing Indians to obtain KCs in the artillery and engineer corps of the Army. Reminding Montagu that one of the reasons that the “Mutiny” lasted as long as it did was the rebel sepoys’ expertise in gunnery, Chelmsford argued that any dilution of British control of these “technical” branches of the Indian Army would greatly endanger the military security of the British in India, should there be another “native” rebellion. One must remember the charged atmosphere in which this was written: earlier that year, Gandhi had launched his antiRowlatt Satyagraha, and the Jallianwalla Bagh massacre had occurred in April 1919. Both events deeply worried Anglo-India. 38 To secure the newly created British empire in India—necessitated by the abolition of the EIC, and the passing of the governance of India to the Crown—the Peel Commission report of 1859 recommended that, henceforth, the ratio of Indian to British troops be fixed at 2:1 in the Bengal Army and 3:1 in the other Armies. The commission envisaged that the total size of the land forces of Britain’s Indian Empire should be about 190,000 sepoys/ sowars, and 80,000 British troops. The actual totals in 1863, when the reorganization was complete, was 135,000 sepoys/sowars and 62,000 British troops—a far cry from the 313,000 sepoys/sowars and 38,000 British troops that had existed on the eve of the uprising. Apart from those officering Indian units, all Britons in the Army in India were henceforth to be members of British Army units on Indian postings. All artillery units were entirely British, and, until 1935, Indians were only allowed to man mountain artillery batteries, of which there were 11 in 1865. 39 Finally, 1857 necessitated a wholesale reorientation of the Indian Army’s sepoy recruitment. Since the bulk of the Bengal Army’s sepoys had mutinied—whereas those of the Madras and Bombay Armies had remained loyal—the reorienting of sepoy recruitment sharply southward would have been logical. This did not happen, as, to British officers of the Bengal Army, it

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would have been a frank and embarrassing admission that their muchvaunted high-caste Bihari and Awadhi sepoys had proven mutinous and therefore unreliable. It would have also undermined their already welldeveloped prejudice against southern Indian sepoys. So they reoriented recruitment further northward. The so-called “high noon” of the Raj witnessed a progressive “Punjabization” of the Army, as table 1.1 shows. We can see from this table that, whereas, in 1862, only 21% of the Army’s Indian infantry battalions were recruited from the Punjab, by 1914, this had risen to roughly 46%. In the same period, the percentage of units recruited in Madras fell from 31% to 11%. Recruitment in Bombay suffered a similar drop. Bengal Army recruitment of many “classes” of Brahmins, Ahirs, Hindustani Musalmans, and Gujars was either abruptly terminated or drastically reduced. By 1893, Bombay Army recruiters had totally excluded low-caste Mahars from military service. Telugu-speaking sepoys, from present-day Andhra Pradaesh, 40 who had formed 10 battalions of the Madras infantry in 1862, found themselves completely shut out of military employment by 1914. Moreover, by the 1890s, many Madras infantry regiments recruited from the Punjab. 41 Intimately tied to the “Punjabization” and to some extent, the “Nepalization” of the Indian Army was the martial races concept which, in post-1857 Anglo-Indian ideology, worked with militarism to become “a dogma proclaimed with theological rancour,” and thus is centrally important for this study. The martial races concept (or theory) was one of the most tangible expressions of the “difference” explained in the introduction. According to General Sir George F. MacMunn, a then-renowned Anglo-Indian ideologue and military officer, who also fancied himself something of an ethnographer, “ . . . one of the essential differences between the East and the West [is] that, in the East, with certain exceptions, only certain clans and classes can bear arms; the others have not the physical courage necessary for the warrior.” 42 However, as with most things in the colonial period, this was largely a

Table 1.1. Regional origin of Indian infantry battalions, 1862–1914

a

Region

1862 1885

1892

1914

Punjab

28

31

34

57

Nepal (Gurkha)

5

13

15

20

East of Yamuna

28

20

15

15

Bombay Presidency, Rajputana, and Central India

30

26

26

18

Madras Presidency

40

32

25

11

Government of India, Army Department, Recruiting in India Before and During the War of 1914–1918 (Calcutta: Government Superintendent Printing, 1920), p. 7.

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misinterpretation of Indian societal reality, based on pragmatic Anglo-Indian strategic needs, 19th-century European “scientific” thought on “race,” and invented traditions. 43 Although fully coalescing and flowering from the 1880s, strands of the martial races concept were present from the latter 18th century onward. There were seven of these strands, or elements. First, physical stature was emphasized. In the 18th century, the Bengal Army began recruiting men from the higher castes and lineages, such as the Brahmins and the Rajputs, who were taller and more impressive-looking on parade than were other ethnicities in its recruitment area, or the sepoys of the two other Presidency Armies. Second, they were perceived as “respectable,” a trait that classconscious Anglo-India, mirroring trends in Britain, eagerly identified and cultivated among its Indian subjects. It is no accident that the Permanent Settlement of land revenue in Bengal, which the EIC instituted at this time, was designed to encourage the formation of an Indian landed gentry. Climatic/civilizational determinism was the third element. According to James Forbes, an early 19th-century theorist, people living in the “bracing, temperate climes” of northern India were virile, and more capable of producing a higher level of civilization than were the inhabitants of the tropical south, who were deficient in “curiosity, enterprise and vigour.” Forbes thought that the inhabitants of Rajputana, living in a climate that was “delightful and temperate,” were a “noble race of Hindus, valorous [and] freedom loving.” Moreover, Rajputs, endowed as they were with a “noble spirit, great energy, and athletic form” made, in Forbes’s opinion, “the best soldiers in India.” 44 The martial race theory also valorized the “yeoman”—the sturdy, independent peasant farmer. This reflected a transposition of English values that preferred to recruit into the army the more “dependable” and “trustworthy” rural farmer rather than the urban-dwelling poor. For example, according to testimony given to a 1859 parliamentary commission on Indian affairs, “ . . . the feeling was that [with respect to Brahmins, the recruiters] . . . felt they ha[d] . . . a more respectable man, in the same way as in our country you would rather have a farmer’s son than a man taken from the street.” Here again physique played a role; it was thought that the yeoman farmer, doing hard manual labour all day, tended to be better-built and physically stronger than the city-dweller. The fifth strand was the Anglo-Indian belief that rural recruits tended to be less educated, and therefore more politically inert, than their urban cousins. This became a major concern by the late 19th century, when the rise of the Indian intelligentsia and their organization, the Indian National Congress, began to challenge Anglo-Indian supremacy. For example, it was said that a “Rajput who reads will never ride a horse,” and a Sikh sepoy who joined the Army after being a schoolteacher was told that he was repeatedly passed over for promotion because, being educated, he was not “ . . . directly from the plough.” 45

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The sixth strand was the tendency of the Raj to co-opt and recruit former enemies who had given it the stiffest fight before being ultimately defeated. The military prowess of the Sikhs, whom the EIC defeated in two hardfought wars in the 1840s, and the Gurkhas, who despite being heavily outnumbered, required three separate campaigns to finally overcome in 1816, greatly impressed Anglo-India. It is no accident that Sikhs and Gurkhas became the most celebrated of the martial races—cemented by their crucial military support to the British during the “Mutiny.” Gurkha sepoys of the Sirmoor Battalion gained British fame and accolades for their stout sixteenhour defense of the Hindu Rao’s house during the siege of Delhi. Their commander wrote that his “little fellows [Gurkhas were relatively short] behaved splendidly, and were cheered by every European [read British] regiment.” According to a contemporary British description, “[t]he Goorkhas [sic] have always had a predilection for . . . British troops, whom they highly respect, but have a signal contempt for the [mutinous] Sepoys, whom they despise, looking upon them as much their inferiors, and reckoning that one Goorkha is at any time a match for three of them.” 46 Sikhs were no less valorized. Mason tells us that “Brayser’s Sikhs competed with the 78th Highlanders in the storming of the Shah Najif building at the first relief of Lucknow.” Tales of against-all-odds Sikh bravery endeared them to their British officers, and to Anglo-India generally. To cite but one example: at Arrah, a civil station near Dinajpur, 45 Sikhs of the newly formed Bengal Police Battalion held out for more than a week against 2,000 rebels until finally rescued by a British force. 47 The final fixing of the martial races in the later 19th century was made possible by the rise of the positivist strand in European intellectual thought, which sought to apply the precepts of natural science to human affairs. This led to the rise of new “social sciences,” such as ethnology and anthropology. “Scholarship” in these disciplines drew on historical models to construct a hierarchical human taxonomy. By conducting detailed comparisons of different “races,” theorists such as Arthur de Gobineau, James Prichard, and Charles Brace, fully believed that they would be able to discover the reasons for the “superiority” of one race over another, “ . . . according to criteria which equated civilisation with a physiologically-determined bent towards the creation of ‘advanced,’ libertarian, morally-progressive political institutions.” Influential Anglo-Indian scholar-officials such as W.W. Hunter and Herbert Risley followed this lead by conceptualizing castes as ethnologically based races. Proceeding with this hierarchizing enterprise required implementation of the taxonomic, or what Bernard Cohn terms the “enumerative” modality, which required information-gathering and ordering on a large scale. Ostensibly carried out for administrative purposes, the tools of the enumerative modality also rigidified the identities of Indians. Thus, an illiterate Jat Sikh agriculturalist who had relatives in the Army would be classified

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“martial” while a Tamil Gomasta who was literate but had no familial tradition of military service to the Raj would be classified as “unmartial” even if he was interested in soldiering. Thus individual agency and personal inclination had little or no place in this system. 48 By the late 19th century, Anglo-Indian military authorities had identified 16 martial races. These “races” were: Punjabi Muslims, Pathans, Sikhs, Jats, Dogras, Brahuis, Garhwalis, Kumaonis, Gurkhas, Rajputs, Marathas, Deccani Muslims, Hindustani Muslims, “Madrassi” Christians, “Madrassi” Muslims, and lower caste “Madrassi” Hindus. “Madrassi” was not a “race” at all, but a catch-all Anglo-Indian term for sepoys recruited from the Madras Presidency—yet another example of how the colonial state got it wrong. Military authorities developed intricate rankings of communities within each of these martial races with reference to their martiality. According to a guide to the “fighting races” of India, written “ . . . to give the young British officer an idea of the material of which the native army is composed,” the most martial Sikhs were mainly drawn “ . . . from certain Punjab tribes such as the Jat and the Khattri, which . . . have always shewn an amount of sturdy grit and manly independence of character.” Though the Khattri Sikhs were traders, and therefore by definition “unmartial,” this was explained by the “fact” that they were “ . . . nothing like the Buniya.” Instead, the handbook continued, the Khattri was, “ . . . a fine, steady, manly fellow, with much spirit and courage in him.” Martial traditions could also be invented or promoted. MacMunn tells us that in the Sikh regiments, no non-baptized, non-khalsa Sikh was allowed to join. “So careful . . . [were] . . . regiments in this matter,” wrote he, “that it has been said . . . not without some shadow of truth, that it is the British officer who has kept Sikhism up to its old standard.” For recruiting purposes, Anglo-Indian authorities defined “proper” Sikhs as kesh-dhari, which further encouraged their exclusivity and distinctiveness from Hinduism. 49 Besides this, Anglo-Indian military authorities seem to have been instrumental in encouraging the development of the ornate Pagri (turban), which is an instantly recognizable symbol of modern kesh-dhari Sikh men. 50 That other much vaunted “martial race,” the Gurkhas, were an AngloIndian invention as well. The “Gorkhalis” belonged originally to a small kingdom near Kathmandu, which, over the course of the 18th century, expanded to bring most of present-day Nepal under its control. As was their wont, Anglo-Indian recruiters misunderstood and corrupted “Gorkhali” to “Gurkha,” and used this term to refer to denote the “martial races” they recruited mostly from central Nepal. Thus, the “Gurkhas,” like the Rajputs, were never a distinct ethnicity. The martial races concept had remarkable staying power. As late as 1943, a high-ranking British officer of the Indian Army maintained that the best Indian soldiers were Sikhs, Punjabi Musalmans, Rajputs, Dogras, Jats, and Pathans. 51

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Though the “martial race” concept has been depicted by post-modern scholars as a colonial construct, a modern scholar of “masculinity” has conceded that “‘martial race’ soldiers appeared to accept . . . constructions of themselves as brave, elite warriors.” This has been reinforced by research which posits that the martial races doctrine incorporated indigenous Kshatriya identities. Here, we must remember that, throughout its history, the colonial Indian army was an all-volunteer force: if sepoys had not liked being lionized as “martial races,” they would have voted with their feet. They did not, because self-image and prestige mattered to sepoys. Apart from practicalities like pay, conditions, pensions and land grants, izzat—“honour, family, community and glory”—was at the core of why they served and fought. 52 By the late 19th century then, the typical sepoy or sowar was a relatively tall, illiterate peasant farmer from northwestern India, or a shorter peasant farmer from the northeast (Nepal), who enjoyed the prestige of belonging to a “martial race.” They were very conservative in outlook, saw the Indian military as a good career, and bore a fierce loyalty toward their regiment and its British officers, whom they considered their maa-baap (mother-father in Hindi). To prevent a recurrence of 1857, regiments were either organized on a single-class (martial race) basis, in which all men came from a single community, or on a class-company basis, where each company of a regiment was composed of a single martial race. 53 As we will see in the following chapters of this book, a significant portion of martial Anglo-India thought that Indianization would fundamentally destroy this izzat, and lead to the destruction of the Raj. Before leaving this chapter, it is important to understand the administrative changes affecting the Indian Army and the forgotten debate. In 1858, the EIC was abolished, and the governance of India was assumed by the British crown. India was now a government ministry with a cabinet seat at Westminster, headed by a Secretary of State for India, or India Secretary. Although the India Secretary held supreme authority over the Army, he was obligated to consult with the War Office and the CinC of the British Army when dealing with British personnel—both officers and other ranks. In India, the Governor-General, now honorifically called the “Viceroy,” was still the supreme head of the Indian Army, and determined its mobilization, deployment, and organization, including the size and composition of the higher officer corps. The CinC India discharged the executive functions of the Army, and referred all military matters to the Viceroy in Council. In council, the Military Member, who, though a military officer, functioned as a war secretary, and advised the Viceroy on issues of military organization and administration. 54 In London, a fifteen-member Council of India, consisting of just-retired senior military and civil officers of the Indian service, was instituted to advise the India Secretary. But because the assent of the majority of this

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27

body’s members was not required in military matters, its influence on the Indian Army was limited. All military proposals originating in India that required the Government of India’s sanction were sent to the Secretary of the Indian Government’s Military Department. After being examined and minuted on, they were passed to the Military Member, who wrote yet another minute, which he submitted, along with the proposal and supporting documents, to the Viceroy in Council for approval. Once this had been secured, a Military Despatch was sent to London. At the India Office, Government of India Despatches were routed through a definite sequence of officialdom, that consisted of the Assistant Under Secretary, the Permanent Under Secretary, the Parliamentary Under Secretary, and the Secretary of State. At each stage of this sequence, even more minutes and notes were generated. After the Secretary of State had considered the proposal, it went to the Secretary of the Military Department of the India Office, who drafted a Military Despatch to India. This then would proceed to the chairman of the Military Committee, then the Military Committee itself, the three under-secretaries, the Secretary of State, and the Council of India. At the end of this process, a Military Despatch to India would be sent. 55 In 1895, the Presidency Armies were abolished and replaced by four commands, each under a lieutenant-general: Punjab Command, which included the North-West Frontier, and the Punjab Frontier Force; Bengal Command; Madras Command, which included Burma; and Bombay Command, which included Sindh, Quetta and Aden. Each command was divided into two or three first-class districts, and a number of second-class districts: 2 in Punjab; 4 in Bombay, and 6 each in Madras and in Bengal. 56 The Indian Army’s tasks in 1914 were classically colonial. Internal security troops were to aid the civil power in the event of another 1857-like popular conflagration. Covering troops were tasked with monitoring and controlling the “wild tribes” of the northwest frontier. From time to time, the Indian Army was, in the words of the British Prime Minister Lord Salisbury (1830–1903), “an English barrack in the Oriental Seas,” dispatching detachments overseas to prosecute Britain’s colonial wars mostly to the east of Suez, “ . . . without having to pay for them,” as the cost was totally borne by Indians. Between 1854 and 1899, Indian troops were deployed in the following areas: Crimea 1854–56, Persia in 1856–57, China in 1859, New Zealand in 1860–61, Abyssinia in 1867, Malaya in 1875, Malta in 1878, Afghanistan from 1878–1881, Egypt in 1882, the Sudan in 1885, the Suakin garrison till 1895, Mombasa in 1896, and the Sudan again from 1896 to 1899. Finally, as a result of the Kitchener reforms of 1903, the Indian Army formed a ninedivision field force, which was a mobile reserve, ready to deploy against either the Afghans or, until 1907, the Russians. Only the field force was ready for deployment outside India. 57

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NOTES 1. Omissi, Sepoy and the Raj, p. 1. 2. Ponting argues that “ . . . Europe is not a continent, and India is certainly not a subcontinent, or if it is, so then is Europe. Logically, Europe is West Asia (especially if India is South Asia).” See: C. Ponting, World History: A New Perspective, (London: Pimlico, 2001), p. 11. 3. D.M. Peers, Between Mars and Mammon: Colonial Armies and the Garrison State in India, 1819-1835, (London: I.B. Tauris, 1995), ch. 1. 4. J. Malcolm, The Political History of India from 1784 to 1823, (London: John Murray, 1823), vol. II, p. 245. 5. Note by Sir Ashley Eden, 8 Feb. 1886, para. 3, in Enclosures to SSI’s Military Despatch No. 88 of 1886, 15 Apr. 1886, in BL(APAC): L/MIL/3/950. For the full quote, see: Sundaram, “Dead Letter,” p. 47. 6. K. Roy, “The Hybrid Military Establishment of the East India Company in South Asia: 1750–1849,” Journal of Global History, 6(2), Jul. 2011, passim.; G.J. Bryant, “Asymmetric Warfare: The British Experience in Eighteenth-Century India,” The Journal of Military History, 68(2), April 2004, pp. 447–49. 7. B. Stein, Peasant State and Society in Medieval South India, (Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1980), pp. 264–65. 8. M. Athar Ali, “Organization of the Nobility: Mansab, Pay, Conditions of Service,” in J.J.L. Gommans and D.H.A. Kolff (eds), Warfare and Weaponry in South Asia, 1000–1800, (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2001), passim.; C. Wickremesekera, Best Black Troops: British Perceptions and the Making of the Sepoy, 1746–1805, (New Delhi: Manohar, 2002), pp. 34–38, 46–47, 50; J.F. Richards, The Mughal Empire, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993), pp. 63–65; K. Roy, The Oxford Companion to Modern Warfare in India, (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2009), p. 34; and I.A. Khan, “Early use of Cannon and Musket in India: AD 1442–1526,” in Gommans and Kolff (eds), Warfare and Weaponry in South Asia, 1000–1800. A recent counter-argument is: A. de la Garza, “The Mughal Battlefield: Personnel, Technology, and Tactics in the Early Empire, 1500–1605,” The Journal of Military History, 78(3), Jul. 2014. 9. See: Michael Roberts, Essays in Swedish History, (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1968), pp. 195–225. 10. N. Hooper and M. Hughes, The Cambridge Illustrated Atlas: Warfare, The Middle Ages, 768–1487, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), pp. 154–69; Hughes and Philpott (eds.), Palgrave Advances in Modern Military History, p. 10; T. Ropp, War in the Modern World, 2nd ed., (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1962), p. 32; and W.H. McNeill, The Pursuit of Power: Technology, Armed Force, and Society since AD 1000, (Oxford: Blackwell, 1983), p. 159. 11. G. Bodinier and J. Childs, “Infantry,” in André Colrvisier (ed.), A Dictionary of Military History and the Art of War, English ed., rev., exp. ed., J. Childs, (Oxford: Blackwell, 1994), pp. 383–84. 12. I.B. Watson, “Fortifications and the Idea of Force in Early East India Company Relations with India,” Past & Present, 88, Aug. 1980. 13. C. Keen, Princely India and the British: Political Development and the Operation of Empire, (London: I.B. Tauris, 2012), p. 5. 14. G.J. Bryant, The Emergence of British Power in India, 1600–1784, (Woodbridge, UK: The Boydell Press, 2013), p. 24. 15. J. Childs, “The Restoration Army, 1660–1702,” in D. Chandler and I. Beckett (eds), The Oxford History of the British Army, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994), p. 55. 16. See the map: “Successor states of the Mughal Empire,” in J. Keay, India: A History, (New York: HarperPerennial 2000), p. 369. 17. Dirk H.A. Kolff, “The Polity and the Peasantry,” in Kolff and Gommans (eds), Warfare and Weaponry in South Asia, pp. 204; 207-8; Ponting, World History, pp. 485; 613; Bryant, “Asymmetric Warfare,” p. 435. Kaushik Roy contends that, post-1857, the sepoy cost twothirds less than a “tommy” serving in India. See: K. Roy, Brown Warriors of the Raj: Recruitment and the Mechanics of Command in the Sepoy Army, 1859–1913, (New Delhi: Manohar,

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2008), p. 20;J.J.L. Gommans, Mughal Warfare; Indian Frontiers and High Roads to Empire, 1500–1700, (London and New York: 2002), pp. 10–11. 18. S. Gordon, The Marathas, 1600–1818, (New Delhi: Foundation Books, 1998; reprint of Cambridge University Press ed.), pp. 16–17. 19. Wickremesekera, Best Black Troops, p. 40. On condottieri, see F. Tallett, War and Society in Early-Modern Europe, 1495–1715, (London: Routledge, 1992), pp. 74–76, 78–80. A firelock was a gun having a lock in which the priming is ignited by sparks struck from flint and steel, as in the flintlock musket. It was an advance over the matchlock. See: W. Reid, The Lore of Arms: A Concise History of Weaponry, (London: Arrow, 1984), p. 113. 20. Dupleix, Joseph François, Marquis (1697-1763), the most powerful governor-general of the CdI. Born in Landrecies, France, he first went to India in 1715. There he was active and successful in CdI affairs at Pondichéry and Chandernagore. In 1742, this garnered him the governor-generalship of French India. He was among the first Europeans to envision a strategic plan of imperial expansion in India. Under his leadership, the CdI was the first to develop a regular sepoy army, and, for a period, the CdI had the EIC on the ropes. By 1754, however, Dupleix had overextended himself, and was recalled to France, where he died, poor and obscure, in 1763. See: H. Bionne, Dupleix, Genève: Slatkine-Megariotis Reprints, 1975; reprint of 1881 ed.); and H.H. Dodwell, Dupleix and Clive: The Beginning of Empire, (London: Frank Cass, 1967; reprint of 1920 ed.). 21. H.H. Dodwell, Sepoy Recruitment in the Old Madras Army, (Calcutta: Superintendent Government Printing, 1922), p. 3; Bryant, “Asymmetric Warfare,” passim; B.P. Lenman, “The Transition to European Military Ascendancy in India, 1600–1800,” in J.A. Lynn(ed.), Tools of War: Instruments, Ideas, and Institutions, 1445–1871, (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1990), p. 146; G.J. Bryant, “Indigenous Mercenaries in the Service of European Imperialists: the Case of the Sepoys in the Early British Indian Army, 1750–1800,” War in History, 7(1), 2000, p. 3; D. Omissi, The Sepoy and the Raj, p. 3; Government of India, The Army in India and Its Evolution, (Calcutta: Government Superintendent Printing, 1924), p. 195. For outline summaries of the EIC’s wars, see: G.C. Kohn, Dictionary of Wars, (Garden City NY: Anchor Books, 1987). Summaries of important battles in colonial India are in: B. Perret, The Battle Book: Crucial Conflicts in History from 1469 BC to the Present, (London: Arms and Armour, 1992). The Adyar River engagement has been also called the battle of St. Thomé. 22. Lawrence, Stringer (1697-1775), is generally regarded as the father of the Indian Army of the Raj. Joining the British Army in the late 1720s, he saw action in Gibraltar and Flanders and at Culloden in 1745. In India from 1748, he held Dupleix’s forces at bay, and laid the foundations for people like Clive. See: See: J. Biddulph, Stringer Lawrence: Father of the Indian Army, (London: John Murray, 1901). 23. G.J. Bryant, “Officers of the East India Company in the Days of Clive and Hastings,” Journal of Imperial and Commonwealth History, VI(3), 1978, p. 205. [hereafter: Bryant, “Officers . . .”].R. A. Callahan, The East India Company and Army Reform, (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1972), p. 18. Half-pay, introduced into the British Army in 1714, was, essentially, unemployment insurance for military officers not on active service. See: J. Brewer, The Sinews of Power, War, Money, and the English State, 1688–1783, (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1988), p. 56. 24. Bryant, “Officers,” pp. 203; 205–6 ; Callahan, Army Reform, p. 36; Bryant, “Army,” passim. 25. Callahan Army Reform, pp. 24-6; On the purchase system, see: R. Holmes, Soldiers: Army Lives and Loyalties from Redcoats to Dusty Warriors, (London: HarperPress 2012), pp. 137–53; Nirad Chaudhuri recounts that he got his first job, in Calcutta in 1921, through “interest.” See: N.C. Chaudhuri, Thy Hand, Great Anarch! India, 1921–1952, (Reading, MA: Addison-Wesley, 1987), p. 7. 26. M.P. Singh, Indian Army under the East India Company, (New Delhi: Sterling, 1976), p. 7; Cohen, The Indian Army, p. 8; R. Hodder, Famous Fights of Indian Native Regiments, (London and New York: Hodder and Stoughton, 1914), pp. 2–3. W.J. Wilson, The History of the Madras Army, (Madras: Government Press, 1882), vol. II, pp. 367–68; 154. Though the adoption of European man-portable firearms necessitated company organization, the designation of Subedar by the EIC leads to a speculation whether, by calling their native captains

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Subedars—the same name the imperial Mughals gave the governors of their subahs (provinces)—EIC officials were trying to appeal to the status sensibilities of the subedar, essentially saying that he was the right-hand man of the British officer. Gommans, the scholar of war and society in Mughal India, agrees that this might well have been the case. However, a definite verdict must await further research. 27. Longer, Red Coats, p. 64. 28. A. Barat, The Bengal Native Infantry, 1796–1852: Its Organisation and Discipline, (Calcutta: Firma K.L. Mukhopadhyay, 1962), p. 154. 29. R. Holmes, Soldiers, pp. 157–58; V.C.P. Hodson, Officers of the Bengal Army, 1758–1834, (London: Heinemann, 1934), Part I, “Introduction” ; Barat, Bengal Native Infantry, pp. 73–4; BL(APAC): L/MIL/9/357: A History of Addiscombe, 1809–1860, p. 2; Memorandum by Captain Charles Stewart, 15 Oct., 1809, Papers of Captain Charles Stewart, Commandant, Barasat Cadet College, 6404/74/4, NAM. See also: E. Wald, Vice in the Barracks: Medicine, the Military and the Making of Colonial India, 1780–1868 (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2014), esp. ch.1, “The East India Company, the Army and Indian Society.” 30. H.M Vibart, Addiscombe: Its Heroes and Men of Note, (Westminster: Archibald Constable, 1894), p. 9; Barat, The Bengal Native Infantry, p. 79; BL(APAC): L/MIL/9/357, pp. 15; 17-18; 10; Great Britain, Parliamentary Papers, (Commons): C.2267 [1856]: Report of the Commissioners appointed to Enquire into the System of Purchase and the Sale of Commissions in the [British] Army, [hereafter: Commission on Purchase in the British Army . . . ], Q. 476-7. Philip Melvill, the EIC’s Military Secretary (1837-58) lamented in the course of his testimony that the general condition of the Presidency Armies would have been better had more of their infantry officers taken the Addiscombe course. Melvill’s testimony is an invaluable source for the state of officer training at Addiscombe on the eve of the Indian Uprising 31. Commission on Purchase in the British Army, Q. 479; 487-8. 32. J.M. Bourne, “The East India Company’s Military Seminary, Addiscombe, 1809–1858,” Journal of the Society for Army Historical Research, 57(1979), p. 206-9; W. Broadfoot, “Addiscombe: The East India Company’s Military College.” Blackwood’s Magazine, vol. 153 (1893), passim.; H. Lawrence, Essays, Military and Political, Written in India, (London: W.H. Allen, 1859), p. 41; P. Stanley, White Mutiny: British Military Culture in India, (New York: New York University Press, 1998), p 30. 33. BL(APAC): L/MIL/9/357, p. 58; Bourne, “The East India Company’s Military Seminary,” pp. 209–10. 34. D.M. Peers, “State, Power, and Colonialism,” in D.M. Peers and N. Gooptu (eds), India and the British Empire, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013), pp. 33–34. 35. This short summary has been derived from the following: C. Herbert, War of No Pity: the Indian Mutiny and Victorian Trauma, (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2008), ch. 4; Metcalf, The Aftermath of Revolt, 2nd ed., (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1990), p. 60; S. Bandyopadhyay, “Eighteen Fifty-Seven and its Many Histories”; B. Pati, “Historians and Historiography: Situating 1857”; and S. Dasgupta, “The Rebel Army in 1857: At the Vanguard of the War of Independence or a Tyranny of Arms?,” both in 1857: Essays from Economic and Political Weekly, (Hyderabad: Orient Longman, 2008); G. Rand and C. Bates (eds.), Mutiny at the Margins: New Perspectives on the Indian Uprising of 1857, vol. 4, Military Aspects of the Indian Uprising, (New Delhi: Sage, 2013); E. Stokes, The Peasant Armed the Revolt of 1857, (ed.), C.A. Bayly, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1986), p. 226. V.G, Kiernan, European Empires from Conquest to Collapse, 1815–1960, (Leicester: Leicester University Press, 1982), p. 47; S.L. Menezes, Fidelity and Honour, ch. 3; S. David, The Bengal Army and the Outbreak of the Indian Mutiny, (New Delhi: Manohar, 2009), ch. 1; and L. James, Raj: The Making and Unmaking of British India, (London: Abacus, 1998), p. 249. 36. A good graphic representation of the pace and extent of the EIC’s annexations can be found in: M.H. Fisher (ed.), The Politics of the British Annexation of India, 1757–1857, (Delhi: Oxford University Press, n.d.), p. xv. Sa’ab is a more accurate transliteration of the word known in the West as “Sahib,” and erroneously pronounced as “saheeb.” Angrezi: “English” in the languages of North India; The “right under their very noses” phrase is from: R. Buckley, I Hanuman: A Novel, (Kolkata: P. Lal, 2003), p. 203. See also: David, Bengal Army, chs. 2; 5–6; Omissi, Sepoy and the Raj, p. 4; R. Mukherjee, Awadh in Revolt: A Study of Popular Resis-

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tance, (New Delhi: Oxford University Press 1984), p. 73; Sitaram, From Sepoy to Subedar: Being the Life and Adventures of Subedar Sita Ram, a Native Officer of the Bengal Army, Written and Related by Himself, trans. Lt-Col Norgate ed. J. Lunt, (London: Papermac, 1988; original ed., 1873), pp. 24–25. For a useful discussion of Sitaram’s memoirs, the veracity of which has been contested, see: R. Mukherjee: Mangal Pande: Brave Martyr or Accidental Hero? (New Delhi: Penguin, 2006), pp. 101–02. 37. H. Streets, Martial Races: The Military, Race, and Masculinity in British Imperial Culture, 1857–1914, (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2004), pp. 19–20; and L. James, Raj, pp. 278–98, passim.; N. Collett, The Butcher of Amritsar: General Sir Reginald Dyer, (London: Hambledon, 2005), p. 10. 38. Chelmsford to Montagu, 14 May 1919, in Montagu Papers, BL(APAC): MSS. Eur. D. 523/8. See also: Collett, The Butcher of Amritsar, passim.; J.M. Brown, Gandhi: Prisoner of Hope, (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1989); and D.A. Low, “ ‘Civil Martial Law’: the Government of India and the Civil Disobedience Movements, 1930-34,” in D.A. Low, ed., Congress and the Raj: Facets of the Indian Struggle, 1917-1947, 2nd ed., (Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2004). 39. David, The Indian Mutiny, p. 399; Menezes, Fidelity and Honour, pp. 189; 191. Not all Indians were excluded from the Artillery. From sometime in the 1880s, Sikhs and Punjabi Muslims were recruited into the Hong Kong and Singapore Royal Artillery, a coastal defense unit formed to defend those two British colonies. See: C.S. Sundaram, “Mishandling Edged Tools?: Sikh Gunners, Tin Hats, and Mutiny in Hong Kong, December 1940,” Paper presented at Indian Diaspora Colloquium, University of British Columbia, 29 April 2016. 40. This spelling is closer to the correct Indian pronunciation of the word than “pradesh,” which was beyond the ken of phonetically challenged British transliterators. 41. Cohen, The Indian Army, p. 44; Mason, A Matter of Honour, pp. 349–50; Omissi, Sepoy and the Raj, p. 12; P. Constable, “The Marginalization of a Dalit Martial Race in Late Nineteenth Century and Early Twentieth Century Western India,” Journal of Asian Studies, 60, (2001), passim. 42. Mason, A Matter of Honour, p. 349. G.F. MacMunn and A.C. Lovett, The Armies of India, (London: Sampson, Low Marston, 1911; reprinted 1988), p. 129. A career Indian Army officer, MacMunn eventually rose to be its Quartermaster-General. A prolific writer, he penned the 1935 book, The Martial Races of India. See: Peers, “The Martial Races,” p. 35. See also: Omissi, Sepoy and the Raj, ch. 1; and D.M. Peers, “The Martial Races and the Indian Army in the Victorian Era,” in Marston and Sundaram (eds), A Military History of India and South Asia 43. See: P. Reynolds, “Race, Nationality and Empire: Aspects of Mid-Victorian Thought, 1852–1872” (unpub. PhD: Queen’s University, 1978); R. Horsman, “Origins of Racial AngloSaxonism in Great Britain before 1850,” Journal of the History of Ideas, Vol. 37(1976); G.W. Stocking, “What’s in a Name?: the Origins of the Royal Anthropological Institute, 1831–1871” Man, Vol. 6 (1971). 44. H. Bevan, Thirty-One Years in India: Or, a Soldiers’ Reminiscences of Native and European Life in the Presidencies, 1808–1838, (London: P. Richardson 1839), vol. II, pp. 16–17; 258-9; D. Omissi, “Martial Races: Ethnicity and Security in Colonial India, 18581939,” War & Society, Vol. 9(1), May, 1991 p. 3; and D.M. Peers, “The Habitual Nobility of Being: British Officers and the Social Construction of the Bengal Army in the Early Nineteenth Century,” Modern Asian Studies, Vol. 25(3), 1991, pp. 550–51; S. Bandyopadhyay, From Plassey to Partition: A History of Modern India, (New Delhi: Orient Blackswan, 2004; 2009), pp. 82–95; J. Forbes, Oriental Memoirs: A Narrative of Seventeen Years’ Residence in India, (London: R. Bentley, 1834), vol. I, p. 382; vol. II, 258–9; Rajputana reminded Forbes of Switzerland. 45. Peers, “Habitual Nobility,” p. 551; S.H. Rudolph, and L.I. Rudolph, with M.S. Kanota, Reversing the Gaze: Amar Singh’s Diary, a Colonial Subject’s Narrative of Imperial India, (Boulder CO: Westview, 2002), p. 3; Proceedings of the Twenty-Fourth Indian National Congress, 1909, A.M. Zaidi, and S. Zaidi (eds), The Encyclopedia of the Indian National Congress, 10 vols., (New Delhi: S. Chand, 1976–1994), vol. 5, p. 436. 46. S. David, Indian Mutiny, p. 160; G.F. Atkinson, The Campaign in India, 1857–58: From Drawings Made During the Eventful Period of the Great Mutiny, (London: Day & Son, 1859),

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picture 12 caption. Over-the-top tales of Gurkha martial prowess persist today. A simple google search will reveal titles like: “10 Stories That Prove Gurkhas Are the Fiercest Fighters on the Planet,” http://www.popularmechanics.com/military/research/g2173/10-amazing-gurkhastories/ [accessed 1 Feb. 2017]. 47. Mason, A Matter of Honour, p. 235; David, Indian Mutiny, pp. 268–69. 48. See: M.D. Biddiss, “Progress, Prosperity and Positivism,” passim; : M.D. Biddiss, The Father of Racist Ideology: The Social and Political Thought of Count Gobineau, (New York: Weybright and Talley, 1970); J.C. Prichard, Researches into the Physical History of Man, (London: Sherwood, Gilbert, and Piper, 1813); and C. Brace, Races of the Old World, (New York: Scribner’s, 1863); S. Bayly, “Caste and ‘Race’ in the Colonial Ethnography of India,” in P.G. Robb (ed.), The Concept of Race in South Asia, (Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1995), pp. 173; 169; B.S. Cohn, Colonialism and its Forms of Knowledge: The British in India, (Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1997), pp. 5–11. In colonial Madras, a Gomasta was “a clerk for vernacular correspondence.” See: H. Yule, A.C. Burnell and W. Crooke, Hobson-Jobson: A Glossary of Colloquial Anglo-Indian Words and Phrases, and of Kindred Terms, Etymological, Historical, Geographical and Discursive, (Calcutta: Rupa, 1990; reprint of 1886 ed.), p. 384. 49. P.D. Bonarjee, A Handbook of the Fighting Races of India, (Calcutta: Thaker, Spink & Co. 1899), pp. ix; 77; 81; G.F. MacMunn and A.C. Lovett, Armies of India, (London; Sampson, Low & Marston, 1935), p. 135; Omissi, Sepoy and the Raj, pp. 94–99. 50. I thank Rana Chhina for this point. 51. K. Roy, Hinduism and the Ethics of Warfare in South Asia, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014), p. 218; Note by Lt.-Gen. G.N. Molesworth, 21 Jul. 1943, in BL(APAC): L/WS/1/136. 52. Streets, Martial Races, p. 203; Constable, “Dalit Martial Race,” pp. 442–43; Omissi, Sepoy and the Raj, ch. 3. 53. C.S. Sundaram, “‘Arriving in the Nick of Time’: The Indian Corps in France, 1914–1915,” Journal of Defence Studies, 9(4), 2015, p. 75. 54. K.M.L. Saxena, The Military System of India, 1850–1900, (New Delhi: Sterling, 1974), p. 25; BL(APAC): L/MIL/17/5/1687: Report of a Special Commission . . . to enquire into the Organisation and Expenditure of the Army in India [Eden Commission] 1879, para. 216. 55. Saxena, Military System of India, p. 33; M. Moir, A General Guide to the India Office Records, (London: The British Library, 1988), pp. 76; 94; S.N. Singh, The Secretary of State and His Council, (Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal 1962), passim 56. Government of India, The Army in India and Its Evolution Including an Account of the Establishment of the Royal Air Force in India, (Calcutta: Superintendent Government Printing, India, 1924), p. 24. 57. K. Jeffery, “‘An English Barrack in the Oriental Seas’? India in the Aftermath of the First World War,” Modern Asian Studies, 15(3), 1981, p. 369; A.P. Thornton, The Imperial Idea and Its Enemies: A Study in British Power, 2nd ed., (Houndmills: Macmillan, 1985), p. 97; Longer, Red Coats, p. 135; I. Leask, “The Expansion of the Indian Army in the Great War” (unpub. MPhil thesis, University of London, 1989), p. 36.

Chapter Two

The Idea of Indianization and Its Enemies, 1817–1898

“The time has arrived when, on the ground of justice, no less than that of policy, it is right and proper to open a military career to the higher classes of the native subjects of the Queen, including the native soldiers already in the army who are deserving of employment. We can no longer continue to use the native only as a subordinate military tool, but must associate him with ourselves as an intelligent agent.” —Sir George Chesney, 1886; 1888 1 “I cannot but think that one of the principal reasons why the Native Army has remained as loyal and contented as I believe it to be is that its true interests have been satisfied, without elevating the more highly educated . . . native officers to positions which they recognize as properly reserved for the governing race.” —Sir Frederick Roberts, 1890 2

The idea of Indianization originated in schemes directed at improving the character, status, and position of the Indian officer class. In 1817—a full hundred years before Indianization was officially sanctioned—Sir Thomas Munro 3 remarked that, while “natives” would always respect the Company because of its military power, it would never be truly popular with them if it did not offer a “better class” of “native” by stimulating employment commensurate with his standing. In military terms, this meant that service in the EIC’s military would not attract “respectable” Indian youths so long as the highest rank they could attain remained that of the subedar, “ . . . where they . . . [were] . . . as much below an ensign as an ensign . . . [was] . . . below the Commander-in-Chief.” 4

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In the 1820s, Sir John Malcolm 5 suggested that the sons of Native Officers should be maintained and placed in a “boy establishment,” where they would be trained prior to joining the military forces of the EIC. Malcolm was no doubt influenced by the then-recent establishment of the Royal Military College in Sandhurst, which was initially designed to train sons of serving officers in the British Army. On the other hand, General Thomas Bradford, CinC Bombay from 1826 to 1829, wanted to institute direct commissions to the Indian Officer class, whereby native gentlemen could become Indian Officers without first having to serve in the ranks. Malcolm rejected this idea, because the influx of “native gentlemen” into the Indian Officer corps ran counter to the professional ethos that he was trying to introduce into that cadre. 6 In 1836, Lieutenant-Colonel Sir John Briggs, who had just retired from the Madras Army, presented a scheme for improving the officering of “native” regiments to Sir John Cam Hobhouse, then President of the India Board. Briggs was a typical Anglo-Indian. Besides himself, his father, his brothers, nephews, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren—Briggs died in 1875, just shy of his ninetieth birthday—all served in India in military or civilian capacities. Briggs himself joined the Madras Army in 1801. He participated in the second and third Maratha Wars, and later assisted Malcolm in Persia and Elphinstone in the Deccan. In the early 1830s, he was a member of a commission to administer Mysore. After returning to Britain, he was active in EIC affairs, being interested in military reform, and in opposing Dalhousie’s doctrine of lapse. 7 In his essay-length missive, Briggs decried the staffing policies of the Company’s military which he felt were alienating the important Native Officer class. Specifically, he criticized the Company’s policy of steadily increasing the complement of British officers in “native” regiments. Besides encroaching on the responsibilities and importance of the Indian Officer, this policy had a negative effect on the unit’s efficiency by introducing a “new breed” of English officer, who did not know the sepoys’ languages, and [were] ignorant of the habits and religious prejudices of the natives.” 8 Perhaps in saying this, Briggs was leveling implicit criticism at the training offered cadets at Addiscombe. Until such time as measures were introduced to improve the training of British Officers, Briggs argued that the Indian Officer class would have to be relied upon to a greater extent than hitherto. To Briggs’s mind, this problem entailed the active recruitment into the Indian Officer class of “Native Gentlemen,” whom he defined as any “well-educated native of good connection, character, and unexceptionable in point of appearance and age.” 9 Briggs contended that native gentlemen, who already possessed a modicum of status in the newly emergent Anglo-Indian society, and owed their existence as a class in large measure to the British, would be more reliable as native officers

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than those sepoys rising up through the ranks. It is significant that Briggs’s definition of “native gentleman” seems to stress similarity more than difference. To make the Indian Officer cadre more attractive to “native” gentlemen, Briggs formulated a “volunteer” system. This was halfway between direct commissions and promotions by seniority. Under his scheme, “native” gentlemen would be eligible for volunteer appointments, to be made by the Commanders-in-Chief of the Presidency Armies. Before becoming Indian Officers, “native” gentlemen volunteers would be required to serve in the ranks for six years. These years—two as sepoy, two as Naik, and two as Havildar—were necessary to ensure that the candidate was fully socialized into barracks life and acquired the professional military skills necessary to become an efficient Indian Officer. But Briggs did not stop here. He proposed establishing colleges at major military stations to train Indian Officer cadets, and improve the efficiency and professionalism of the Indian Officer corps in general. Placed under the direct supervision of the station’s commander, Briggs proposed that each of these colleges be headed by a British officer, assisted by Indian Officers. The course of study at these colleges would last for three years, and be open to sons of Indian Officers who had joined the Company’s military service as ordinary sepoys. After graduating, the cadets would only have to serve for one year in each Indian non-commissioned officer grade before entering the Indian Officer corps as Jemadars. Although it is clear that Briggs put quite a bit of thought into his plan, he did not go into detail on the training regime at these colleges for Indian Officers. Nevertheless, he is noteworthy as the first Anglo-Indian to advocate formal professional military training for Indians at colleges in India. 10 There is no evidence that Briggs’s proposal was seriously entertained, but, indefatigable as ever, Briggs followed this up six years later in a letter to the Lieutenant-General George Hay, the 8th Marquis of Tweeddale, who had just been appointed CinC as well as Governor of Madras. 11 It is clear from the letter that Briggs did not think military prowess and efficiency was an attribute of race. Efficiency, Briggs argued, was what was wanted. Harkening back to the early days of his own service, he contended that it would be best to officer Indian units on the irregular pattern—that is, to give Indian Officers real command responsibilities. He further maintained that, by doing so, the Company would save on the expense of British Officers, and attract a higher class of Indians than were then Indian Officers. These men were “ . . . respected neither by those above them nor by those over whom they are placed.” 12 But, alas, Briggs’s plan, though limited in scope to only the Indian Officer class, was never acted upon, and forgotten. In the following decade, Henry Lawrence 13 advanced something resembling the idea of allowing Indians higher officer commissions in the Compa-

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ny’s military. Lawrence garnered much more fame than Briggs. He was celebrated by Anglo-India for his skill and speed in bringing the Punjab under “sound British administration” in the aftermath of the Anglo-Sikh Wars, and gained hero status—in that age that reveled in heroic and selfconfident derring-do—for organizing the defense of the British residency at Lucknow during the “Mutiny.” His death there ensured his status as a bona fide martyr of the Raj, in much the same way as “Chinese” Gordon of Khartoum later became for the British empire. 14 Lawrence was also a skilled essayist, whose pieces were published in the leading magazines of the day, such as Blackwood’s. A clear exponent of similarity, he wrote that “until we treat Natives, and especially Native soldiers, as having much the same feelings, the same ambition, the same perception of ability and imbecility as ourselves, we shall never be safe.” 15 It was ludicrous to believe that, in an army of 300,000 men, there did not exist one Indian capable of attaining higher officer grade. This was especially true, he felt, in a country like India, which had seen the rise and fall of many empires, and had, “ . . . been accustomed to see military merit rewarded, and . . . [had witnessed the] . . . successive rise of families from the lowest [to the highest] conditions, owing to gallantry in the field.” 16 While the possibility of attaining the rank of Subedar-Major was incentive enough to ensure the good service of the majority of sepoys, Lawrence wrote that something more was required for the one-tenth of sepoys “ . . . of better education, of superior character [and] the bold and daring spirit that disdains to live forever in a subordinate position.” 17 He advocated the creation of a new “native” officer grade for these men, where they could obtain command positions “without risking the supremacy of British authority.” The future hero/martyr of Lucknow dismissed the contention that training Indians for higher commissions would threaten the Company’s hegemony in India. Although he was quite aware of the inherent danger in training sepoys for higher command—“handling edged tools” was the phrase he used— Lawrence believed that “ . . . justice and liberality [would] forge stronger chains [of loyalty more] than [would a] suspicious and niggardly policy.” Moreover, he held the view that, while the “native” soldier should not be “absolutely barred” from any post, his promotion should be made according to his merits and he must “not be tempted beyond his strength.” 18 Lawrence also had a more pragmatic reason for advocating higher commissions for Indians. It was to counteract the growing trend that saw many Indian Officers and Indian non-commissioned officers leaving the Company armies, only to enter the military services of various Indian kingdoms, where they were quickly attaining the higher officer grades denied to them in Company service. As proof of this, Lawrence highlighted two cases. Dokul Singh, a general with the Sikh Khalsa army, had begun his career as a Drill-Naik in the Bengal Army; and Raja Buktawar Singh, whom Lawrence described as

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“ . . . one of the richest and most powerful men in Oudh,” was once a Havildar in a Bengal Army cavalry regiment. So powerful and influential was Buktawar Singh that, when the Awadhi artillery corps rebelled because they had not been paid, he came to the rescue of the Nawab, whose treasury was empty, by settling the arrears out of his own personal fortune. 19 To Lawrence, this bleeding off of Indian military talent was worrisome because, if allowed to continue, it would lead not only to a shortage of experienced Indian Officers and non-commissioned officers but, more alarmingly, to a diffusion of British military expertise to the Indian kingdoms. There was nothing, reasoned he, to prevent this “superior” military knowledge being employed by Indian kingdoms against the Company’s military forces. Lawrence’s fear was not all that far-fetched as in 1844, when he was writing, British control over the whole Indian landmass was still not completely assured. Some of the stiffest military opposition that the British were to face was still to come in the form of the Sikh wars of the 1840s, and the “Mutiny” of 1857–1858. In light of this, Lawrence’s idea of allowing Indians higher commissions can be seen as an effort to secure the continuance of collaboration of Indians in the military system of British India. Lawrence realized that if this collaboration was to survive and grow, better incentives, such as higher commissions for Indians, needed to be found. Although Lawrence did not offer a detailed scheme on how this was to be put into effect, his comments regarding higher army commissions for Indians, especially with respect to the justice of the idea, became a touchstone for those who, in later decades, advocated Indianization. Because 1857 was, at its heart, a military rising, it effectively put paid to any notions of Indianizing the Army’s officer corps for almost three decades. Only in the 1880s was the question once more addressed. A complex interplay of factors lay behind its reappearance. First was the rise of a vocal panIndian nationalism, and the reaction it provoked in terms of Anglo-Indian policy. Nationalism in India was itself the product of four inter-related elements: Britain’s India policy in the early nineteenth century, which, imbued as it was with Benthamite and Millian Utilitarianist ideas, sought to “improve” Indian society along European lines, and concomitantly denigrated Indian culture and learning; 20 the British need to form an efficient, reliable, and inexpensive Indian administrative cadre to man the lower and middle rungs of the bureaucracy which they erected to administer India; the existence of Indians who were willing to serve in this cadre; and finally, a dawning self-reflexiveness among these Indians that provoked them to take a hard look at their own culture in order to “rediscover” and “purify” it, in an effort to demonstrate that though non-Western, it was fully capable of achieving modernity based on Indian tenets. 21 For our purposes, the most farreaching manifestation of Utilitarian policy was the introduction of English education by Lord Bentinck’s administration in 1835. 22 The brains behind

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this was Sir Thomas Macaulay, the Law Member of the Viceroy’s Council. In his now infamous minute, Macaulay made clear the ideological aim of the new education policy, which was to produce people “ . . . who may be interpreters between us and the millions whom we govern—a class of persons Indian in colour and blood, but English in tastes, in opinions, in morals, and interests.” 23 It is also significant to note here that within two years of this, English replaced Persian as the language of administration in the EIC’s territories, and that, by 1844, there was a definite preference for Indians with English education to fill Company clerical and administrative posts. The upper castes—the Kayasths of Bengal, the Iyers, Iyengars, and Raos of Madras, and the Chitpavans of Bombay—by virtue of their association with learning, their role as administrators and political advisors to Indian potentates, and their traditional aversion to manual work—were strategically positioned to take advantage of English education. On one hand this gave them an ability to collaborate effectively with the new Raj, and on the other, a conscious self-identity as a distinct class. 24 By the 1870s and 1880s, fifty-odd years of English education and employment opportunities in the lower echelons of Anglo-Indian administration had seen the rise of small but vocal groups of Indians in the Presidency towns. These groups had assimilated the values of what Dipesh Chakrabarty has called “political modernity,” comprising concepts such as “citizenship, the state, civil society, public sphere, human rights, equality before the law, the individual, distinctions between public and private . . . democracy, popular sovereignty, social justice, [and] scientific rationality.” 25 The English-educated Indian of this period saw education as his ticket to secure posts in government service. Indeed, this was the route taken by over a third of the graduates of Calcutta University between 1857 and 1882. Besides the lower echelons of government service, members of the emerging intelligentsia gained employment in the new professions—law, teaching, medicine and journalism. Indeed, the growth of journalism during this period was remarkable. In a ten-year period, from 1878 to 1888, the number of vernacular newspapers in Bengal grew from 39 to 62, and circulation from 23,893 to 77,190, and, over the same period, the number of Indian-owned newspapers in the Bombay Presidency grew from 68 to 175. India-wide, by 1885, there were 721 newspapers and periodicals in operation. 26 While English education continued apace during these years, there occurred a fundamental shift in the character of British rule in the sub-continent after 1858. Gone were the Utilitarian and Benthamite notions of reforming Indian society in Britain’s own image, primarily because of the perception that policies based on these notions had played a significant part in provoking the 1857 crisis. Radical reform had not just fallen out of fashion—it was deemed downright dangerous. “British aspirations for India . . . shifted from a hope for total and immediate reform . . . to a view that England’s mission in

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India was to ‘keep order.’” 27 This new and unabashedly paternalistic ethos was championed by Anglo-Indians like James Fitzjames Stephen, the Legal Member of the Viceroy’s Council during the years 1869–72. In dealing with Indians, who were both irrevocably superstitious and hopelessly ignorant, there was no room for the sentimentalism of liberal measures, which would lead to a “ . . . dangerous . . . shift . . . [in] the foundations on which the British Government of India rests.” In highly paternal tones, he reminded his liberal-minded countrymen that an “essentially . . . absolute government . . . represent[ing] a belligerent [British] civilization [ought to be] . . . founded not on consent, but on conquest.” It would be highly anomalous and dangerous for such a government “founded on conquest, implying at every point the superiority of the conquering race, of their ideas, their institutions, their opinions, and their principles,” to shrink apologetically from the confident assertion of its powers. 28 The Government of India’s newfound autocracy manifested itself in a number of ways. Because Anglo-India perceived that a major cause of the “mutiny” had been the annexation policy pursued by the EIC vis-à-vis the Indian kingdoms, their policy, after 1858, sought to conciliate the princes as the “traditional leaders” of India. 29 There was a rising inclination among British politicians at Westminster and Anglo-Indian officials in Calcutta to see the “native chiefs” as feudatories of the Imperial British Crown. This relationship was formalized in 1876, when Queen Victoria assumed the title “Empress of India.” The proposal to further cement the Raj’s alliance with the princes through the establishment of a Council of Indian Princes was rejected by London on the grounds that, far from buttressing British rule in India, such a body would prove a troublesome mouthpiece for Indian grievances. 30 Lytton, the Viceroy who proposed it, was allowed to create a “less dangerous” outlet for collaboration with the Indian aristocracy: the Statutory Civil Service. Founded in 1879, appointment to this service rested neither on the candidates’ merit or ability as determined in competitive examinations; rather, it was to be by nomination. Qualifications of “ideal” candidates would be “ . . . partly inherited, partly developed by early habits of command, [and] partly proved by the readiness with which their right to command is recognized by large numbers of their native fellow subjects.” 31 These qualities were precisely the ones that scions of the Indian aristocracy were deemed to possess. However, it was not successful. Indian aristocrats were reluctant to enter it. Accounts written during the Raj attributed this to three factors. First, being of lower status than the Covenanted Service, it was shunned by the prestigeconscious Indian nobility. Second, by admitting many non-aristocratic men who would have otherwise entered the subordinate or uncovenanted civil service, it aroused the ire of Indians in that service, who naturally “cried foul” at seeing Indians with no better qualifications than themselves admitted

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to a “higher” Statutory Service. Finally, it ignored Indian aspirations, which, in any case, were beyond its remit. In 1892, it was abolished. Accounts of it, instead of faulting Lytton’s conceptualization, blame the 69 statutory Indians themselves, stating that they did not possess the required education, and were deemed unqualified for their posts. 32 Tellingly, nothing is said about whether the statutory civilians felt fulfilled professionally by their assigned duties. The growth of English education, and the alacrity with which the Indian intelligentsia took advantage of it, meant that, by the 1870s and 1880s, the demand for employment in lucrative government posts began to outstrip the supply, which led to increasing unemployment among educated Indians. In 1877, the Governor of Bengal, Sir Richard Temple wrote that, he was dismayed to see young men who had proudly received their university degrees “returning baffled to . . . [their] . . . poverty-stricken home[s after long days of unsuccessfully] begging from office to office, from department to department . . . for some lowly-paid employment.” 33 The situation was made all the more rankling by the fact that certain employment avenues, such as the Covenanted Indian Civil Service, seemed to be deliberately shutting out the Indian intelligentsia. 34 The Covenanted Indian Civil Service (ICS) was created by the Charter Act of 1793 and by Cornwallis’s reforms of the 1790s. Its functions were purely administrative: revenue collection, general administration, and law. The ICS attracted British men of “good family,” due to its salary, promotion, and pension benefits. Recruitment was by patronage, until 1853, when admission by open competitive entrance exams was introduced. Covenanted civil servants accounted for a little more than 20 percent of the administrative services. Below them was the Uncovenanted ICS, composed almost wholly of Indians. Entrance by Indians into the “heaven-born” Covenanted service was theoretically made possible under the 1833 Charter Act. In practice, though, this was exceedingly difficult for any Indian. In 1876, the India Office made it even harder by reducing the upper age limit for candidates taking the ICS entrance examination from 21 to 19, and by requiring those who passed the entrance exam to take up two years’ residence at an English university while studying for the ICS graduation exam. Although the professed intention was to professionalize the ICS, it is clear that this measure was designed to exclude the educated Indian class, few, if any, of whom would be able to afford the travel to, and the two years’ residence in, England. Faced with such impediments, it is easy to see why there were only 12 Indians in the Covenanted ICS in 1887. 35 The extent to which the Indian intelligentsia worried Anglo-Indians is revealed by the fact that they demonized it, by calling it “the Baboo class.” The term Babu or Baboo was originally a term of respect among Bengalis, akin to that which the term “gentleman” or “esquire” had in contemporary British society. 36 Anglo-India, however, transformed it into a term of derision denoting the Indian intelligentsia, who, it was said, “aped” British cul-

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ture without really understanding it. 37 Babus were deemed effeminate, devious and, at heart, cowards. Anglo-Indians of the late nineteenth century were anxious to maintain “difference” between themselves and the Indians over whom they ruled. The Indian Babu intelligentsia, however, sought similarity between themselves and their rulers. That the Babus had, as a result of their English education, assimilated certain liberal English values, such as equality of opportunity and the applicability of representative and responsible forms of government to non-Europeans (i.e., themselves), placed them in a position to challenge the late nineteenth-century Raj, which, as we have seen, was based on autocratic principles. 38 Indeed, Lytton—the conservative Viceroy from 1876 to 1880—best characterized official attitude toward these Indians, when he complained to India Secretary Cranbourne in 1876 about “ . . . the Baboos, whom we have educated to write semi-seditious articles in the Native Press . . . . really represent nothing but the social anomaly of their own position” 39 In fact, so agitated was Lytton about the native press’ “seditious attacks” against the Indian princes, the covenanted ICS, and Britain’s policy vis-à-vis the Turks, that he passed a Vernacular Press Act in 1878, designed to suppress and punish sedition in newspapers and journals written in Indian languages. Wiser heads repealed it in 1881. 40 Later, it became fashionable among Anglo-Indians to characterize the Indian “middle-class” intelligentsia as a “microscopic minority.” 41 It is indeed ironic that Anglo-Indians used this term, for they themselves were even more of a microscopic minority in colonial India than were the Babus they so heartily despised. The second factor leading to the reappearance of the Indianization issue was the “Great Game in Asia”—a “cold war” between Russia and Britain in the nineteenth century, which resulted from Russia’s imperial expansion southeastward into central Asia, and by Britain’s equally imperial extension of its sphere of influence northwestward from India, into the Afghani frontier with central Asia. Anglo-India feared that the Russians had designs on Afghanistan, and the Russians feared British expansion into Turkestan. In 1885 when the Russians asserted control over Penjdeh, a Russo-Afghan border area, both London and Calcutta feared that bullets would soon be flying, as “the Indian frontier had become an imperial frontier.” 42 Viceroy Dufferin 43 was particularly worried about the possibility that, if war came, the Indian Army’s field force would be up against the Russians, who were thought to be a first-class power—primarily because they were Caucasian, and therefore superior to “Asiatics” 44—and thus would require more British Army troops to defeat. Logistical and geographical difficulties meant that most of these would have to come from the Indian garrison, denuding India of British troops. Predictably, because of the experience of 1857, Anglo-India deemed this very dangerous. To offset this possible temporary deficiency in India’s internal security, Dufferin ordered an expansion of the Indian Volunteer Corps. 45

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Although the EIC was permitted to raise volunteer corps to supplement their military forces in 1820, the real impetus for the formation of the Indian Volunteer Corps came during the 1857 uprising. Viceroy Canning passed a Volunteer Act in 1857, which authorized the formation of volunteer corps throughout British India. The Act had two aims: firstly, to protect the life and property of Anglo-Indian communities; and secondly, to keep the peace in these communities during times of crisis, thereby freeing up British forces to deal with that crisis. Because it was thought that only Anglo-Indians would wish to join such a corps, the 1857 Act did not specifically prohibit Indians from joining. 46 However, when loyalist Indians in Calcutta and Bombay requested the Indian Government’s permission to form Volunteer Corps in 1861, Canning politely, but firmly, refused. 47 The 1885 scare renewed Indian demands that they be allowed to volunteer. 48 Indian opinion at the time was distinctly disinclined to see British rule in India replaced by Russian rule. Some of the more important Indian vernacular newspapers, such as Indu Prakash, Rast Goftar, Swadesamitran, and Bharat Mitra, 49 supported the mobilization of the Indian Army and the volunteers, but were perplexed at Dufferin’s decision to send a predominantly British force to Afghanistan, while asking Whitehall for additional British troops to bolster the Indian garrison—to be paid for, of course, out of the Indian exchequer. 50 Indeed, it seemed to Surendranath Banerjea, editor of The Bengalee, that the British feared Russian expansion to the frontier not so much for itself, but for the effect that this would have upon the Indian popular mind. 51 This assessment was corroborated by the Anglo-Indian press, which advocated bolstering the British garrison in India “to guard against the error of pre-Mutiny days”—endangering the security of AngloIndia by denuding of British troops. 52 It was not without reason that a feeling grew in English-educated Indian circles and their mouthpieces in the press, that, despite their show of loyalty in the face of the Russian threat, AngloIndia continued to regard them with distrust and suspicion. 53 This sentiment by Indian newspapers and public affairs magazines was but one facet of their interest in the military policy of British India, which became more pointed and vocal in the mid to late 1880s. 54 The three interrelated manifestations of this interest centered on the Army’s cost to the Indian exchequer and taxpayer, 55 its deployment and use, and the Indianization of its officer corps. Educated Indian opinion urged the Government of India to adopt the Indianization of the Army’s officer corps on four grounds: trust, economy, historical precedent, and ideology. On the question of trust, the Surabhi of Bengal stated that one of the ways by which Anglo-India could demonstrate its confidence in the Indian people would be by admitting qualified Indians into the higher ranks of the Army. This would do much to eradicate the rising sentiment among Indians that the British looked upon them “suspiciously, as an inferior race.” 56

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Other newspapers adopted a more strident tone to try to shame the Raj into action. Although it favored agitating to gain for Indians the Queen’s Commission in the Army, the Burdwan Sanjivani, a Bengali daily, quite presciently thought that such action would bear no immediate fruit, because of “ . . . the present attitude of Anglo-Indians, both official and non-official, towards natives.” 57 This attitude was racism, made painfully apparent by the still-fresh anti–Ilbert Bill agitation. The Ilbert Bill of 1883 gave Indian judges and magistrates in the mofussil (up-country) districts the power to try Britons in criminal cases. Lord Ripon, the then Viceroy, saw this as a natural extension of the powers of the Indian members of the judiciary. The bill provoked howls of protest from the unofficial Anglo-Indian community in Bengal and Bihar, as well as from the Calcutta Bar, and from the press in England. In the face of such opposition, Ripon was forced to water down the measures. Anglo-India’s opposition to the Ilbert Bill has long been seen as the proximate cause of the formation of the Indian National Congress. 58 The climate it generated, concluded the Burdwan Sanjivani, was hostile to Indianization. It furthermore regretted that the Government of India distrusted Hindus and Muslims, but not Indian Christians, whom it was willing to admit into the Volunteer Corps. The paper surmised that this lack of trust in the adherents of the two main religions in the sub-continent, who constituted the overwhelming majority of its population, stemmed from the fact that the Indian Government was afraid that if they were given military education and posted to line regiments they would inevitably lead a rebellion against their British overlords. The Swadesamitran of Madras argued in a lead article that this notion was ludicrous, for Indians fully understood that there was “ . . . no power to be compared with the British power in conferring upon them and their country manifold advantages.” 59 Both the Burdwan Sanjivani and the Swadesamitran argued that what was needed was a new climate of trust between Anglo-India and Indians, an outward manifestation of which would be the admission of Indians into the Indian Army’s officer corps in the same ranks as Britons. The Navavibhakar took the same line, pointing out the anomaly of excluding the Indians from the Queen’s Commissioned ranks while at the same time using Indian troops in all of Britain’s wars in the East. 60 Most Indian newspapers saw Indianization as a way of reducing the British component of the Indian Army, thereby leading to a reduction in the Indian tax burden, of which they felt the salaries and allowances of British officers constituted a disproportionately large amount. The Sahachar editorialized that the military expenditure of India, which it estimated at fully onethird of India’s revenue, could be significantly reduced if a certain portion of the Indian Army’s British officers were replaced by Indian higher officers; the implication here being that British rates of pay were bloated, and also that Indians did not require such high salaries. 61 The Navavibhakar expressed the

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same sentiment, contending that the cost of the Indian army to the Indian taxpayer was more than that borne by citizens of any major European country in support of their army. The reason for this, it contended, was clear: the expense of British officers. The solution was also clear: the appointment of Indians to higher officer grades. 62 India’s “martial spirit” was another important issue brought up by the Indian vernacular press. The editor of the Swadesamitran contended that the English would, in the long run, find it beneficial to their rule in India if they were to confer higher military rank to qualified Indians. Such a measure would reawaken the martial spirit in the Rajputs and the Marathas, who could only be a source of strength in the event of a foreign invasion. 63 The Bharat Mihir argued in a similar vein, writing that, from the point of view of preparedness, it behooved the Government to impart training in military leadership to Indians. That way, if the British were to ever leave India—an eventuality that the paper highly deprecated—Indians would not be defenseless, as Britons themselves had been against the Anglo-Saxon invaders after the departure of the Roman legions and garrisons in 410 C.E. 64 But clearly the most telling argument advanced by the Indian vernacular press was that the Indian Government, by not allowing Indians military training and higher commissions in the Army, was not living up to the pledge made in the Royal Proclamation of 1858, which promised that all Queen Victoria’s subjects in India “ . . . of whatever race or creed, shall be freely and impartially admitted to offices in our service, the duties of which they may be qualified by their education, ability and integrity duly to discharge.” 65 The Hindu Ranjika, Amrita Bazar Patrika, and Native Opinion pointed out the basic inconsistency between the Proclamation and current Government practice. Did not the Proclamation’s use of the words “all,” “freely,” and “impartially,” extend to military employment as well? And what was the true extent of British “civilization” if it seemed to go back on its word in such a blatant fashion? 66 Yet, what they, and subsequent historians, overlooked is that the wording of this pronouncement meant that it could be employed in a very discriminatory manner. Key to understanding this is the phrase “ . . . qualified by their education, ability, and integrity . . . .” These three features involved normative judgements that AngloIndians made. Therefore, the inclusion of this phrase provided them with a device to exclude from their employ anyone who did not measure up to their “standards” of education, ability, and integrity. The Penjdeh incident and the resulting war scare also affected Calcutta’s military collaboration with princely India in a tangible way: it led to the formation, in 1885, of the Imperial Service Troops (ISTs)—the armies of the princely states. The ISTs were a regularization and formalization of the somewhat ragtag ill-trained military forces that Calcutta permitted the larger princely states to maintain after 1857. They were seen by the Anglo-Indian

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military officials as a means by which Indian princes could show their support to the Crown by providing troops for Imperial service—possibly outside India—to augment the Indian Army, in time of need. They were maintained and paid for by their respective princely state, and organized and trained by British officers of the Indian service. Far from being merely titular, some of the contingents did actually serve overseas. Hyderabad sent contingents to Burma in 1888–1890, and to South Africa in 1902–1904, and Alwar, Bikaner and Jodhpur sent troops to China in 1900–1901 to help quell the Boxer Rising. 67 In 1904, the IST’s strength was 14,711. Ten years later, 29 princely states had IST contingents, and the total strength of all the ISTs came to 22,479 men. 68 All of the above factors induced Lieutenant-General Sir George Chesney, the Military Secretary to the Government of India, and a “gentleman-officerscholar,” to resurrect the idea of Indianization in official circles. Chesney was one of the more liberal and farsighted officers in the Indian Army. He was born in 1830 into a distinguished but poor Anglo-Irish family, and secured an Addiscombe cadetship in 1847, where he graduated third in his class. He arrived in India the following year, with a Subaltern’s post in the Bengal Engineers. Seeing action in “the mutiny,” Chesney was severely wounded during the retaking of Delhi in September 1857. While convalescing, the decorated and promoted Chesney was appointed principal of the Fort William School of Civil Engineering in Calcutta. Chesney spent his career on attachment to the Indian Public Works Department (IPWD). 69 From 1873 to 1880, he was in England, serving as the President of the Royal Indian Civil Engineering College at Cooper’s Hill, Staines, which had been created to train English candidates for the higher ranks of the IPWD. Chesney took active part in its creation, choosing its site, determining its curriculum, and ensuring its “martial spirit” by selecting many of his Royal Engineer colleagues as instructors. Thereafter, he became Military Secretary to the Indian Government. Along the way, he found time to write. His 1868 book Indian Polity, which advocated radical reforms such as the amalgamation of the Presidency Armies, quickly became a standard ICS text. Readers will note that this was the selfsame Chesney who, in 1871, published the now famous “The Battle of Dorking,” about a fictional German invasion of England, which sparked the whole invasion-scare craze in Britain. 70 Through his long secondment to the civil sector, it is quite possible that Chesney came into contact with Indians who held positions of greater responsibility and equality with Anglo-Indians than he would have done had he remained with his unit. Such relationships between Anglo-Indian military officers and civilian Indians were quite common in the civil administration of the Raj. For example, the present author’s great-grandfather, Gopalsastrial Rama Iyer (1867-1924), an inspector with the South Indian Railway Company, worked under an Anglo-Indian agent. This agent was one Captain Archi-

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bald Douglas Graham Shelley of the Royal Engineers, on secondment to the South Indian Railways. The documentary evidence for this comes from a legal power of attorney that Shelley granted Rama Iyer in 1898 to represent the railway in civil and criminal proceedings—an important responsibility indeed. 71 Chesney became acquainted with the Indianization issue in a roundabout fashion, through measures underway in Calcutta to associate Indian princes and aristocrats more closely with “martial” aspects of the Raj, which AngloIndian administrator-ideologues thought would appeal to them. This mainly took the form of bestowing honorary officer commissions on a select few princes, which would enable them to wear flashy uniforms, be notionally attached to a regular unit—preferably in the cavalry, to appeal to the princes’ equestrian proclivities—and, if they so desired, some rudimentary military training. 72 A note dated April 16, 1884, is the first evidence we have that Chesney wanted to go further. In it, he wrote that he had become convinced that it would be a “sound policy” to open real, as opposed to honorary, military careers to “natives of the right class” by giving them substantive QCOs. Chesney advocated that such an experiment should be made, because, while it would not risk military security, it would be greatly advantageous to Calcutta politically, for the “time may come too when it would be of great service to have a nucleus of native noblemen trained in military service and in a position to be able to raise recruits of a good class quickly.” 73 Chesney followed up these thoughts with a more formal minute in early 1885, addressed to the then CinC India, General Sir Donald Martin Stewart. 74 Remarking at how Indians had been increasingly making inroads into civil sectors of British Indian administration, especially in the judicial and civil services, “ . . . as they become gradually fitted for them . . . ,” Chesney thought that “ . . . the time . . . [had] . . . arrived, when, in justice, as well as on the ground of policy, a similar opening for advancement might and should be afforded to them in the army.” 75 Therefore, Chesney advocated that “ . . . a higher and more extended military career should be placed within the reach of native gentlemen who may qualify themselves to embrace it.” 76 In the late nineteenth-century Anglo-Indian worldview, “Native Gentlemen” were members of the Indian land-owning aristocracy. Having “ . . . descended, in many cases, from ancestors who held high military office under former rulers . . . ,” they were of good martial stock. A number of them were hereditary chieftains, who rallied “ . . . their clansmen by the hundreds to join the [British] standards.” 77 This characterization, which is Chesney’s own, reveals an important aspect of Anglo-Indian thought. The use of the descriptive phrases “land-owning aristocracy” and “hereditary chieftains” brings to mind an agrarian society, ruled by local lords able to raise bands of armed retainers. A polity based on these characteristics essentially resembled

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the feudal structure in England four centuries before. In making this analogy, therefore, Chesney was conforming to the Anglo-Indian ideological practice of likening the Indian present with an idealized and often romanticized version of Britain’s past. 78 Chesney further reinforced this image by stating that the Indians to whom he was referring were, in many respects, similar to the Scottish Highland clans of 150 years before. 79 In Anglo-Indian ideology, both were conceived as peoples living on the periphery of British power, who were eventually “pacified” by that power: the Scots in the early eighteenth century, and the Indians within living memory of Chesney’s time. 80 Chesney argued that Indian gentlemen, lacking the intellectual training and inclinations of the Babus, were being virtually shut out of status employment under the British. Moreover, being intelligent, they were bound to realize that they were being marginalized. Since he subscribed to the post1857 Anglo-Indian orthodoxy which took care not to alienate the Indian aristocracy, Chesney felt that a career option had to be found that would both assuage feelings of neglect, and be “ . . . congenial to their habits and traditions,” which were martial. 81 It was clear to Chesney that “martial” Indian gentlemen would be most interested in careers as Queen’s Commissioned Officers of the Indian Army. Indian candidates would have to earn their Queen’s Commissions. Chesney stipulated that Indian gentlemen who desired an officer’s career undergo military education emphasizing “ . . . a good knowledge of English.” He suggested that this training be undertaken at one of the four Chiefs’ Colleges that had been set up over the previous fifteen years to educate Indian princes and aristocrats. The idea behind these colleges was to provide moral uplift to the rulers and aristocrats of Princely India, to build their characters, so that they would rule their lands according to British precepts and values. In short, the intent was to inculcate in them the values and moral codes of English gentlemen. According to Lord Curzon, who, as we shall see, championed their cause at a later date, if the Indian princes, aristocrats, and “men of good family” were to take their rightful place as a ruling class under British paramountcy—which was a manifestation of “ornamentalism”—they would have to “ . . . learn the English language, and become . . . familiar with English customs, literature, science, modes of thought, [and] standards of truth and honour . . . ,” while at the same time, preserving a modicum of “difference,” and their essential Indian-ness. 82 Since the acknowledged “nurseries” of the English gentleman, as well as English army officers, 83 were the public schools, it was perhaps natural for the Anglo-Indian authorities to consciously follow the public school model in setting up the Chiefs’ Colleges. Each of these institutions was located so that it could cater to the educational requirements of the Indian princely and noble houses in a particular region of India. The Rajkumar College was opened in Rajkot in 1871, and was initially meant to serve the Kathiawar States, but this was later widened to cover the entire

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Bombay Presidency. Mayo College, at Ajmer, was established in 1875, to serve the needs of the Rajput states. Daly College opened at Indore in 1876 to cover the states of the Central India Agency, and Aitchison College, Lahore, was founded in 1888 to meet the need of the Punjab princes. 84 At the inauguration of the Lahore college, Sir Charles Aitchison hoped that it would become an institution where the “young nobility of the Punjab” would receive the modern (read British) education and discipline needed to mould them into men “fit for positions of public usefulness . . . [thereby] . . . exercise[ing] . . . energies too often allowed to lie dormant.” 85 If Chesney was cautious about which Indians would be suitable for officer commissions in the Indian Army, he was even more circumspect about the way they were to be initially posted to regiments. The reason was his awareness of the color bar in the Army, of a greater severity than anywhere else in Anglo-Indian government service. He feared that no matter how urbane or gentlemanly or efficient college-educated scions of the Indian aristocracy were, there would be widespread protest, not only by British officers in the Indian Service but also by Anglo-India in general, against any attempt at rapid and wholesale introduction of Indian QCOs. To ensure that “ . . . for a great many years to come, Europeans . . . [would] . . . not be required to serve under natives . . . ,” Chesney’s proposal stipulated that the “native lieutenant on entering the [Indian] army, would go in as the junior of his regiment.” However, he took pains to point out that this was to be done on a trial basis: a single Indian would be commissioned, and if he performed satisfactorily, and when there was a regimental vacancy, a second Indian Subaltern might fill that. In this way, eventually, the regiment would be “officered wholly by Indian gentlemen.” Chesney held out the possibility, in the event of the one Indian-officered regiment doing well, of the expansion of his plan to include other Indian regiments. He advised the CinC that the advantage of this plan was that, as the actual performance of Indian QCOs was its sole criteria, it could proceed as gradually or as rapidly as official Anglo-India desired. The important point, however, as Chesney reminded General Stewart, was that a start had to be made regarding Indianization, if only because “ . . . a beginning of some sort is . . . safer than standing still.” 86 Chesney’s proposal received backing from Stewart, who presented it for the consideration of the Viceroy’s Council. On that body’s recommendation, the Government decided, in March 1885, to send the India Office a plan to “ . . . bring to the attention of Her Majesty’s Government the question of appointing Native gentlemen to the commissioned ranks of the army in the same ranks as European officers.” The proposal which the Indian Government presented to London, was similar in tone to Chesney’s plan. It stressed that the initiative was one whose time had clearly come, and deemed it

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necessary for securing the continued political support of the princely and aristocratic classes. 87 Calcutta’s plan, however, differed substantially from Chesney’s. Instead of introducing Indian QCOs to a single regiment, it was proposed to post them to two regiments—one cavalry and the other infantry. This expansion was clearly designed to convince the princes, and Indians in general, of Anglo-Indian liberality and progressiveness, and also to appeal directly to princes and aristocrats, whose proclivities leaned more toward equestrian pursuits. Yet this was only for appearances’ sake, because the two Indianizing regiments would not be regular line regiments of the Indian Army; rather, they would be two “special regiments” raised specifically for the purpose of Indianization. The dispatch justified this by stating that Indian aristocrats would find serving in a regular line regiment extremely “distasteful and irksome.” This line of thought can be analyzed in two ways: either official India believed that service in a regular Indian Army regiment alongside British officers would in some way infringe upon the caste strictures and sensibilities of the princes; or that their distaste and irksomeness would stem from being shunned by their British regimental confrères. Although AngloIndia believed the former to be the case, in reality they were trying their best to avoid the latter, and what they were really afraid of was that the racially prejudiced attitudes of the British officers would prevent them from dealing with Indian brother officers as professional colleagues. The Indian Government’s plan imposed a further limitation by proposing that, rather than officering the special regiments on the regular pattern with 12 QCOs, they be officered on the irregular pattern, with only 3 QCOs. In the irregular pattern the officer establishment consisted of a commandant, a second-in-command, and an adjutant. In the special regiments, the commandant was initially to hold the rank of Major, the second-in-command a Captaincy, and the adjutant a Lieutenancy. After serving six years with the special regiments, commandants were to attain Lieutenant-Colonelcies, and their second-in-command Captaincies. The promotion of officers of the special regiments more junior than this was to be determined on the basis of their age at joining. Since Calcutta envisaged that it would take some time before Indian gentlemen could be appointed as QCOs, it suggested that, in the first instance, the special regiments be staffed by specially selected Indian Officers from existing Indian Army units. These men would presumably be chosen from the cadre that had been recently directly commissioned as Jemadars. To the three special regiment officers, a fourth would be added—a “duty doing” officer who would be a native gentleman of good family. This additional position was a temporary measure, to be abolished once a sufficient number of Indian princes and aristocrats could be trained to assume command roles in the regiments. The pay and allowances of these Indian

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QCOs was to be fixed at two-thirds that of British officers of corresponding rank. 88 True to Anglo-India’s authoritarianism, the Viceroy and his councillors stated that selection of Indian QCOs not be by open competition, as was already the case at Sandhurst, but under Calcutta’s control, and assisted by Simla (shorthand for Indian Army headquarters). In yet another example of Anglo-Indian constructed “difference,” the Government asserted that while it was reasonable to assume that the average English youth who passed the Sandhurst entrance examination would be able to withstand the physical stresses of an officers’ life, the same would not be the case with Indian youths. In India, it was deemed extremely uncommon for a “native” not from the effete Babu class to do well in competitive examinations. And since it was a given that Babus were non-martial, if competitive examinations were instituted, then surely one would have an officer corps inundated by Babus who would be worthless as leaders of men in battle. 89 Selection was to be based on four criteria: “ . . . personal qualifications, character, social position, and, fitness for a military career.” 90 This ordering of criteria, however odd it might seem to us in the early 21st century, conformed to the military thinking prevalent at the time in Anglo-India, as well as at home in England, which believed that, in terms of military leadership, “character” was more important than knowledge or science. 91 In London, Lord Kimberley, 92 the then India Secretary, proceeded very cautiously. Realizing that what Calcutta proposed amounted to nothing less than an “organic change” in the leadership principle of the Indian Army, he sought the advice of no fewer than 22 high-ranking Anglo-Indian officials, including three former Commanders-in-Chief India—Field Marshal Lord Napier of Magdala, and Generals Sir Frederick Haines and Sir Donald Stewart—as well as Sir Ashley Eden, 93 a former Governor of Bengal who had chaired the Indian Army Reorganization commission of 1879. Kimberley replied only in April 1886, no doubt delayed by the bout of political musical chairs over Irish home rule at Westminster, which saw two changes of government in 1885–6, and a tumultuous split in the Liberal party. 94 His dispatch was decidedly ambiguous. While the India Secretary seemed to favor the broad sentiments behind appointing Indian QCOs, if only for the rather passive reason that Anglo-India could not indefinitely deny “natives” a suitable outlet for their military aspirations, he rather unhelpfully batted the idea back to Calcutta, recommending its reconsideration in light of the opinions he had gathered on it. A clear majority—13—of his respondents favored acceptance of Calcutta’s proposal, and of these, eight recommended modifications. Kimberley chose to amplify these modifications, swayed, no doubt, by the fact that some of those who totally rejected the scheme were very senior and influential. Indeed, his main recommendation was identical to that

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of Eden, who was the scheme’s most implacable and vehement foe in London. 95 In his summary, Kimberley enumerated six major and five minor objections to the scheme. The first major objection was his own: would the special regiment plan, which called for a maximum of eight Indian QCOs, adequately meet the “alleged” political need of opening to Indians careers in the Queen’s Commissioned ranks of the Indian Army? This was a direct reply to Napier of Magdala, who contended that sepoys and sowars would be invaluably stimulated and encouraged by the “prospect of rising to the command of a regiment.” Napier thought it would also “secure . . . [the] . . . warm attachment . . . of loyal chiefs and heads of clans” by offering their sons military employment befitting their social rank.” 96 On the other hand, the India Secretary was aware that any wholesale extension of the scheme, so that military openings for Indians were on a par with those available to them in civil life, was inadvisable because of the great danger that it would pose to the military security of Anglo-India. Harking back to “The Mutiny,” he expressed anxiety that Indian Army units not under the complete command of British officers would be susceptible to disaffection or even open revolt, led, no doubt, by its Indian QCOs. He clearly heeded the dire warnings of Generals Sir Charles Reid and Sir Charles Brownlow. Brownlow, the Military Secretary to the Duke of Cambridge, the CinC of the British Home Army, pointed out that the recent Egyptian rebellion, put down by a British Expeditionary Force, had been led by a native Egyptian Army officer—Colonel Ahmed Arabi. What guarantee was there, asked Brownlow, that a similar uprising would not occur in India when Indians were granted substantive military command? 97 Reid, who had served with distinction during the 1857 uprising, maintained that the main reason the British managed to emerge victorious was “ . . . the absence in the ranks of the mutineers . . . of any leaders . . . [with] . . . military training.” Thus, he was unequivocally opposed to the scheme, and direly intoned that “[s]electing men as officers from the higher classes [of Indians], educating them, and training them in the arts of war, as many advocate, would make them . . . dangerous characters, and rather too efficient.” General Sir Donald Stewart, the former CinC who had arrived back in England to take up an appointment with the India Council, offered something constructive on this head. The security concern would best be met if the two special regiments were posted to defend the new road link between Dera Ghazi Khan and Pishin, on the Baluchi frontier. Since the Dera Ghazi Khan–Pishin sector, unlike Waziristan, Tirah, and Swat further north, was a relatively quiet area of the frontier, he reasoned that Anglo-Indian security would not be critically affected by any unsatisfactory performance on the part of the special regiments. 98

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The second point Kimberley instructed the Anglo-Indian authorities to consider was suggested to him by Sir Ashley Eden. Eden took exception to the proposed officer establishment of the special regiments, which, at four, was to be exactly half that of the British-officered units of the Indian Army. Eden construed this to mean, not that Calcutta was trying to minimize the number of Indian QCOs, but that the Indian authorities thought that Indian QCOs were twice as good as their British counterparts. This struck Eden—a staunch believer in the superiority of the British “race”—as an abomination. “No one,” he wrote, “would pretend to believe for one moment that regiments commanded and officered by natives of India would be equal either in the field or in cantonment, to regiments commanded and officered by British officers.” Moreover, Eden firmly believed that the presence of British officers in “native” regiments was essential to “ . . . maintain . . . the discipline, watch the temper, and control the interior economy of a Native regiment.” 99 Despite the fact that both Chesney and the Indian Government had designed the scheme in such a way as to delay, for a very long time, British officers and other ranks ever having to serve under Indian QCOs, Kimberley and his respondents fastened on this as a major issue. According to General Sir Frederick Haines, who had been CinC India from 1876 to 1881, it was “an established fact” that ordinary sepoys had but little confidence in the command abilities of Indian Officers. Following from this, Haines asked whether it was realistic to expect British officers and other ranks to willingly place themselves under, and “have one grain of confidence in a Native commanding officer.” 100 This lack of confidence, thought Haines, would surely be detrimental to the efficiency of any unit commanded by Indian QCOs. General Napier, although supporting the special regiment scheme, and General Peter S. Lumsden nevertheless shared Haines’s concern. To forestall Indians commanding Britons, Napier suggested that, when they attained colonelcies—the first rank where they would be able to command Britons— they be always junior to their British counterparts. Lumsden’s solution was more creative. Warning that any sudden introduction of Indian QCOs would likely cause discontent on the part of British officers “ . . . similar to that lately shown by [Anglo-India over] the introduction of the Ilbert Bill,” Lumsden proposed a system of different rank designations for IQCOs: the commanders of the special regiments would be called “Commandants” instead of colonels, and the wing officers under them would be designated “First and Second Wing Commandants,” instead of captains or majors. 101 Kimberley’s fourth objection was on financial grounds: was it wise to burden the Indian exchequer, already overtaxed as it was, with two additional regiments, which, since they were to be Indian-officered, would be of questionable efficiency? In stating this, Kimberley took the lead from General Stewart, who had recommended, for the very reason of eliminating “financial strain,” that the scheme be tried on two already extant units. 102

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Finally, Kimberley doubted Calcutta’s contention that there existed, among the Indian gentlemanly or princely classes, a real demand for a higher military career. If indeed there was no demand, then Kimberley was concerned that the special regiment scheme would create one, and that satisfying it would, for all the reasons Kimberley had outlined, be exceedingly difficult. This was in direct contradiction to his thoughts of the previous year, when he had written to Dufferin that action on the question of higher military employment for Indians was imperative, especially in view of the fact that an “Asiatic” had already attained a higher rank in the Russian military. 103 This officer, Colonel Mahsud Alikhanov-Avarsky, was a Muslim petty noble from Daghestan in Russian Central Asia. He was thoroughly Russified, receiving education at the Tiflis (now Tblisi) Nobles Gymnasium, and officer training at the Konstaninovsky Military Academy in St. Petersburg. He saw active service, and was decorated for bravery in the Russo-Turkish War of 1878. More importantly, from the perspective of Indo-Russian relations, he was a member of the joint commission that had been set up to negotiate the Afghan border—one of the key flash points in the “Great Game.” 104 The volatile nature of the negotiations would, in the minds of many, necessitate the deployment of an Indian field force near the disputed area. If this were done, asked Generals Meade and Bright, how long would it be before news of the Russian policy of granting officer commissions to scions of their central Asian khanates reached the ears of the sepoys and Indian gentlemen of military bearing? Not long at all; and, once it did, it would inevitably lower British prestige in the eyes of Indians, and undoubtedly lead to some disaffection among sepoys. 105 Kimberley’s volte-face here was probably due to Eden’s influence. Eden, ever the foe of the scheme, rejected Meade’s and Bright’s thinking. He contended that, while British policy was animated by a forward-looking ideology, aimed at benefiting the subject races, Russia’s policy in Central Asia was not. The Tsar’s government simply selected certain Central Asian youths of aristocratic lineage, whom they Russianized, trained as officers, and posted to the Russian Army. Eden maintained that, because of the sensibilities of caste, such a haphazard policy would be impossible in India. 106 Having laid these objections before the Government of India, Kimberley suggested a plan of his own. Almost a carbon copy of General Stewart’s plan, it called for the “experiment” to be tried on the two regiments already authorized to be raised in the Bengal Army. This satisfied Stewart’s concern regarding the financial burden of raising two additional regiments. Kimberley adopted Stewart’s suggestion, that the two regiments be combined into a single corps on a Guides footing, under the overall command of a British officer. 107 This would ensure that the units would be carefully monitored and observed by the military authorities. Like Stewart, he also proposed that the special corps be localized on the North West Frontier, to guard the Peshawar

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–Dhera Ghazi Khan sector. Finally, as a precaution against the possible disaffection of British officers who found the prospect of serving with Indian QCOs repugnant, Kimberley suggested that, in the future, Calcutta should consider the possibility of employing the latter in duties “ . . . other than in line”; for example, tasks and responsibilities connected with the training and administration of the Indian Army Reserve, which was just then being formed. 108 Once in India, Kimberley’s plan ran into a brick wall of opposition in the person of General Sir Frederick Sleigh Roberts, who had succeeded Stewart as CinC India. Roberts was a dominating figure in the military world of Anglo-India in the late nineteenth century, and he built a reputation that, lionized by propagandists such as Kipling, soon passed into British imperial mythology. As a believer in the Empire, India’s important place in it, and the use of the Indian Army to ensure that India would continue to be a part of it, Roberts was second to very few indeed. 109 The son of an Indian Army officer—General Sir Abraham Roberts—Roberts was commissioned in the Bengal Army in 1852, after graduating from Addiscombe. Apart from service in the Uprising, for which he was awarded the Victoria Cross for valor, he spent most of his early service in the Quarter-Master General’s Department, where he became something of an expert in logistics. He rose to prominence when, as Quarter-Master General, he designed the Delhi encampment for Lytton’s Imperial Assemblage of 1877. On the strength of this Roberts was appointed to field command in the Second Afghan War (1878–1880). Here he became a hero, marching from Kabul to Kandahar to defeat the Afghan forces. From 1881 till the time of his appointment as CinC India in 1885, he was CinC Madras. 110 Roberts believed the whole question of higher commissions for Indians to be “ . . . exceedingly delicate . . . [and] . . . anything but easy.” He had been aware for some time of the issue, and of the possible effect on Indian and sepoy opinion of “Alikhanoff.” Indeed, he conceded that it might be found necessary, in the distant future, “ . . . to give natives a certain share of higher appointments . . . ” in the Indian Army. Therefore, Roberts was clearly irked at having to consider Indianization so early in his tenure as CinC India. He was also opposed to the direction Kimberley’s scheme was taking the Indianization issue as a whole. Roberts’s main concerns were to maintain the preparedness and fighting efficiency of the Indian Army, and to promote the welfare of the troops under his command. He therefore thought that Kimberley’s scheme was a purely political move, which would not be of any real military benefit to the Indian Army. Any scheme of real military utility would, in his opinion, have to focus not on Indian gentlemen, but on the real “martial races,” who provided the men for the Indian Army, and who manned the Indian Officer class; to do otherwise would be “shortsighted.” 111

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For the CinC, the issue revolved around two main questions: first, whether there existed, within the army, a desire for higher commissions; and second, whether Indians commissioned under the India office scheme would be accepted by British officers and other ranks. Roberts, who claimed he knew his sepoys well, maintained that 99% of them aspired “to lead a quiet life.” Their only aspirations were to evade the displeasure of their British superior officer, gain a decent pension, and serve long enough in the higher Indian Officer grades to gain a few acres of land as a retirement bonus. 112 On the second question, Roberts agreed with Lumsden that, for a long time to come, difficulties would arise when “native officers” were placed in positions where they could command British officers and other ranks. The time was not ripe for a measure designed to place “Native Gentleman” on an equal footing with British officers. Such a measure would be both impolitic and dangerous because of the “innate inability” of the British officer and soldier “to submit to native authority.” This, Roberts averred, was because “the strongest possible feeling . . . among all ranks of the British Army [was] that natives . . . [were] . . . neither physically nor morally such good soldiers as themselves.” Roberts himself believed that it was the recognition of this superiority which “ . . . had won India for us.” 113 Anglo-Indian attitudes of superiority alone would not account for all the difficulties. A firm believer in the ideology of difference, Roberts discounted the Anglicizing influence of public school education on Indians. Indian QCOs, being Indians first and QCOs second, would strictly adhere to their caste restrictions, thus hindering them from mixing freely with their British brother officers. Such a situation would be detrimental to unit cohesion and camaraderie, which Roberts held to be the cornerstones of military efficiency. Another danger was that Indian QCOs were likely to become “ . . . too intimate with their co-religionists serving below them in the regiment,” thus eroding the necessary hierarchical gulf between officers and enlisted men. 114 To circumvent all these difficulties, Roberts suggested a plan of his own, designed exclusively for Indian Officers. What he proposed was to appoint a few of the best Indian Officers to the frontier levies, which were then operating in the Khyber, and which, he hoped, would be raised in Baluchistan and other parts of the frontier as well. Officered on the irregular system, the frontier levies would offer useful employment for the cream of the Indian Officers who yearned for command responsibilities. Moreover, he contended that such levies would be a valuable nucleus that could be expanded for use in garrisoning frontier stations in time of war, thereby releasing regular troops for frontline duty. The CinC was clear—these Indian-commanded levies were to be raised on an experimental basis initially. Only gradually were the most trustworthy and efficient of them to be given a less irregular establishment and formed into regiments. 115

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To avoid situations of clashing authority and awkwardness about the positions of Indian officers and British officers relative to each other, Roberts was against giving British rank and titles to the Indian officers commanding these levies. He proposed that the officer commanding would be called “Commandant,” the second-in command “Naib-Commandant,” and the adjutant “Bakshi.” Roberts saw three main advantages to this plan. Firstly, the irregular establishment of the levies would be more economical than the regular units as it was cheaper than either Stewart’s or Kimberley’s plans, which called for a regular establishment. Secondly, Roberts averred that if his frontier levy plan failed, for whatever reason, the risk to the security of British India would be slight, from the point of view of a diminution of military efficiency. Thirdly, the plan would “ . . . show to what extent a general wish existed [among the “native” ranks] for a more extended military career.” 116 By this time, the Indian vernacular press had begun running pieces advocating Indianization, as part of its general concern with military affairs. Newspapers such as Surabhi and Sadharani of Bengal and Swadesamitran of Madras reported the details of the two-regiment scheme, and urged Whitehall to approve it. 117 The year 1885 also saw the formation of the Indian National Congress: a coalescing of educated and middle-class Indian opinion into an all-India political organization. In its first years, Congress was a moderate organization, led by English-educated Indians who had gained prominence in the new professions—most notably law. The legal profession’s dominance in the early Congress can be gained from the fact that 11 of the 16 Indians who served as Congress presidents in the period 1885–1909 were successful lawyers. At 39.32 %, lawyers accounted for the largest number of delegates at the yearly Congress sessions between 1892 and 1909. The early Congress’ ideology leaned toward Gladstonian liberalism. In its early phase, Congress had the rather “ . . . modest goal of enlarging Indian participation in government decision-making and administration.” 118 Dufferin tried to counteract the increasingly vociferous Babu criticism by placating the sensibilities of the martial classes. What the Viceroy had in mind was to grant Honorary Queen’s Commissions to certain outstanding Indian officers. This struck Roberts as “ . . . a step in the right direction,” as it offered the opportunity to raise the military status of the Indians from “martial races,” without requiring them to compete with British officers. The CinC thought that these honorary commissions should be given either as rewards for outstanding service, or as a sop to Indian aristocrats, in order to bind them more closely with Calcutta. 119 Dufferin responded to the India Office in August 1887. The scheme devised by Stewart and Kimberley, though laudable in intent, was impossible to implement at the present time because of financial considerations. One wonders if he even took into account the fact that Kimberley’s scheme, by stipu-

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lating that the two Indianizing units be taken from the existing establishment, was precisely designed not to incur additional expenditure. In lieu of it, Calcutta proposed that honorary ranks of Lieutenant-Colonel, Major, or Captain—carrying all the privileges of substantive rank, except that of command—be conferred on selected Indian Officers. Selection would be the responsibility of either the CinC India or the CinCs of Madras or Bombay. The choices of the latter two, however, would have to be additionally approved by their respective provincial Governments. The nominations of all three CinCs would, after approval by the Viceroy in Council, be transmitted to the India Secretary, who would submit them for royal approval. The granting of these honorary commissions was to be officially notified in the London Gazette, according to the practice then obtaining for substantive Queen’s Commissions. 120 In London, Lord Cross, 121 the India Secretary in Salisbury’s new Conservative government, doubted that the honorary commission scheme would satisfy the military ambitions of Indian Officers. Rather, it seemed to Cross that it would only “emphasise . . . [their] . . . inferiority” by giving them a “titulary . . . [rank] . . . in every essential subordinate to the lowest grade borne of a British officer of the same battalion.” For this reason he stipulated that Indian Officers be granted Honorary Commissions only extra-regimentally, as aides-de camp, or orderly officers. Not to do so, he wrote, would surely raise the specter of disaffection, which was the last thing either London or Calcutta desired. Yet Cross was also aware that there were only limited extra-regimental billets in the Indian Army where the Indian honorary commissioned officers could be posted. To ameliorate any possible difficulties in this regard, Cross resurrected Kimberley’s idea of employing them in the Indian Army Reserve, where they would form a special class of District Reserve and Recruiting Officers. Here, they would essentially be glorified recruiting officers, periodically touring the recruiting districts within their circle, “ . . . where it might be anticipated that their example would have a beneficial effect upon recruiting generally.” While there is no evidence that Cross’s recommendation was ever acted upon, Dufferin’s idea bore fruit. In January 1888, Aslam Khan was granted the rank of Honorary Major, in recognition of his military service, and, for political reasons, Maharaja Pratap Singh of Kashmir was appointed Honorary Colonel of the 37th Dogras. 122 Chesney, now the Military Member of the Viceroy’s Council, was undaunted by the gradual whittling down to nothing of his original 1885 proposal. He still believed that Indianization was an important goal, which “ought not to be lost sight of,” especially in light of the new political realities that had emerged since he had put forward his original plan nearly three years earlier. 123 Here, he was clearly speaking about the continued existence, despite official Anglo-Indian opposition and scorn, of the Indian National Congress, which displayed an interest in military affairs from its inaugural ses-

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sion. In its first three annual sessions, it passed four resolutions dealing with military aspects of the Raj. 124 More importantly, at its third session held at Madras in December 1887, Congress had passed a resolution that the Military Service in its higher grades should be practically opened to the natives of this country, and that the Government of India should establish military colleges in this country, whereat the natives of India, as defined by statute, may be educated and trained for a military career as officers of the Indian Army. 125

The final form of this resolution only emerged after considerable debate among the delegates of the 1887 Congress. As initially proposed by Narendranath Sen, the editor of the influential English-language daily The Indian Mirror, it closely reflected Anglo-Indian sentiment by advocating military education and officer commissions only for Indian princes and gentlemen. Perhaps Sen believed that his resolution would receive a fair hearing from the White “Sahibs,” if it seemed to be in line with their own thinking. In any case, Sen aroused the ire of fellow delegates like Dwarkanath Ganguli, who contended that the exclusive nature of the resolution went against the stated purpose of Congress to represent all of India, and all of its people. Ganguli’s view prevailed. 126 Resolutions of this kind, spurred on by editorials in the Native press that had possibly reached the ears of sepoys, made it clear to the Military Member that something had to be done before “definite agitation . . . [arose] . . . on this head.” In his new proposal, Chesney answered those who criticized the 1885 scheme for ignoring the claims of sepoys, and especially Indian Officers presently in the Army. Yet, Chesney reminded official Anglo-India that the Indian Officer class was becoming increasingly more diverse as a result of the new policy of direct commissions to the Jemadar rank. This resulted in the entry of a better class of “martial race” Indians into the Indian Officer class, no doubt attracted by the prospect—offered by direct commissioning—of not having to spend long years in the sepoy ranks before attaining “Native” Officer rank. But Chesney reasoned that mere Indian Officer Commissions would only whet the appetites of some of those directly commissioned for even higher command, which necessarily meant the Queen’s Commission. If these younger Indian Officers were to gain the Queen’s Commission, the Military Member maintained that English education was an essential prerequisite, in order to enable the Indian to “transact regimental business in the English language, and study his profession in it.” Without it, the Indian would not be able to “take his place alongside the British officer.” 127 Chesney contended that, if Indians on the High Court Bench, district judgeships, or covenanted ICS had to possess an English education, the same

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should be also required of Indians desiring the Queen’s Commission. To meet the aspirations of both the Indian higher classes and the Indian Officers, Chesney proposed a two-tiered plan. The first tier called for the creation of a military college, at which Indians directly commissioned as Jemadars—who, according to Chesney, were developing an awareness of the wider world beyond the parade ground—and sons of Indian gentlemen and aristocrats would receive a military education in English. The logical career option for the Indian cadets so trained would be Queen’s Commissions in the Indian Army. For cadets from princely India, however, Chesney hoped that postings would be found in the Imperial Service Contingents then in the process of being formed in various princely states. Indeed, he maintained that, in the latter case, the increased efficiency of the Native States’ forces would be an added benefit. 128 Chesney recognized that the question of posting cadets from British India was a thorny one. He accepted as quite valid the objections of many officials in both London and Calcutta that the method he had proposed three years earlier would generate social difficulties—in this case an Anglo-Indian euphemism for their own racial prejudice arising from having Indians in the regimental mess. What he proposed now, however, was no less radical: that, instead of gradually Indianizing selected units through a system of promotion and seniority, a certain portion of the Indian Army be organized so as to be officered, right from the start, wholly by Indians. Initially, the senior officers of these units would be selected from the ranks of the long-serving Subedar and Rissaldar-Majors, while the junior officers would be appointed from the young men who had graduated from the military college. As the senior Indian Officers retired, their posts would be filled by officers graduating from an Indian military college. The only British officers in the units so organized were to be the Commandant and his Second-in-Command, but this was only to be in the initial phase of the experiment. 129 The main idea of the plan, although Chesney never said so, was the segregation of Indian QCOs to an even more complete extent than had been the case in his first proposal. Chesney thought that, as the officers which graduated from the college were to serve solely in the Indian Army, the college should be located in India. In keeping with “difference,” Chesney argued that training in England would necessarily require the Indian to be “cut adrift from home associations and influences, when after all, he is coming back to command native troops in this country.” 130 By the same token, it would have made sense for British officers opting for the Indian service to have done part of their training in India, but such logic does not seem to have struck the Military Member. Cadets to the military college were to be selected by nomination, on the basis of “promise and character” by the provincial governments in the case of British-Indian cadets, and by the Foreign Department of the Indian Government in the case of cadets from Princely India. The competitive examination

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alternative, which, if adopted, would lead to Babu predominance in an area in which they had little ability, was to be avoided. 131 The second tier of Chesney’s plan focused on the vast majority of Indian Officers who had attained that grade through long years of service. Chesney thought that the Indian Officer class was stagnating. Echoing Briggs, he ventured that this was due to the fact that they were increasingly shut out from responsible command positions within units by the influx of British officers. A pre-1857 Indian cavalry squadron had had only three British officers, which meant that the Risaldar was, for all practical purposes, a squadron-commander; but after the uprising, the complement of British officers in a regiment of Indian cavalry rose to nine, and Risaldars were relegated to leading only troops. In order to increase the morale and contentment of the Indian Officer class, especially in the Indian cavalry, Chesney proposed that, as far as officer establishment went, regiments be divided into two wings: one to be officered on the old system, with just three British officers, with Indian Officers commanding squadrons and companies; and the other on the new system, with nine British officers. 132 For younger Indian Officers, who had risen from the ranks—Jemadars still in their twenties, for instance—Chesney held out the possibility of attending the military college. For them, it would serve as more of a staff college to round out their practical experience. Indeed, Chesney thought that this would only be a slight enlargement of what was already being done at the Roorkee training school, where a small class of Indian Officers and Indian NCOs was being trained in rudimentary staff work, and displayed a “remarkable aptitude” for sketching and surveying. 133 Chesney felt confident that, [b]y giving selected native officers training at a military college, and especially instructing them in English, their ignorance . . . [which is] . . . the great difficulty at present in the way of their getting any military education at all, we should certainly increase their efficiency, and it would be possible to select the most promising for higher promotion.

As ever, Chesney was aware of this plan’s potential danger to Anglo-India’s security, but, echoing Henry Lawrence, he argued that it was “ . . . far more dangerous to stand still than to advance, to maintain a policy of repression than to enter on a policy of trust.” His plan would do just that, by allowing Indians of both the Princely states and British India to feel that “ . . . military advancement . . . [was] . . . bounded only by the limit of capacity and conduct.” 134 Concerned that Roberts would again oppose his new plan, despite the attention it paid to the sepoys, and especially the Indian Officer class, he chose to table the proposal in the Viceroy’s Council when Roberts was away inspecting the Bengal Army’s important garrisons. The Council,

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dominated by what Roberts later was to term a “radical element,” approved of the Military Member’s plan. Normally, the measure would, at that point, have been dispatched to London. But Roberts, who thought Chesney’s desire to establish an “Indian Sandhurst” was purely motivated by the Military Member’s personal and careerist concerns, urgently prevailed upon Dufferin to delay action until he received Roberts’s views on the plan. 135 In a memorandum dated May 18, 1888, Roberts outlined his objections to this new scheme of Chesney’s. Claiming that the Military Member was giving too much credence to the “ . . . truculent, seditious, and ill-informed native press clamouring for native control of the Army,” he held that Chesney did not adequately consider the political and military ramifications of what he was proposing. To Roberts, Chesney had ignored the one central question raised by his proposal—that of leadership, an area of ineradicable racial difference between Englishman and Indian. Although the CinC held that the bravery of the sepoy was indisputable, he nevertheless maintained that the force and strength of leadership are an attribute of race. The power of dominating the wills of men, that carries them forward in battle and controls them in quarters, belongs to the stronger nature; and, speaking as I am, not in public, but in the council chamber, it is not a vainglorious boast to claim for the British race a superiority over other races in the quality of command . . . There are [Indian] races as brave as the British, but they have not the faculty of command in the same degree. 136

Roberts also poured cold water on the civil analogy. The admission of Indians into the Indian Army’s officer corps had “no parallel” with their admission into the covenanted civil service. The “ . . . peculiar idiosyncrasies of the British soldier,” argued Roberts, meant that he would “never look upon [t]he Native officer, however carefully he may have been educated and however clever he may be, as one fit to be his commander.” This stemmed from the fact that even the youngest British soldier thought of himself as, “infinitely superior to the highest born and most powerful native in the land.” Therefore, if implemented, Chesney’s measure would cause great embarrassment to British officers. quite possibly lead to insubordination among British troops, thereby resulting in the wholesale collapse of the Anglo-Indian military system. This was why Roberts hoped that higher commissions for Indians “ . . . may never be introduced in our Army.” 137 Roberts’s thoughts on British officers’ attitudes toward the possibility of having Indians as colleagues is curiously at variance with what he himself had observed three years earlier. At that time, he had reported to Lord Randolph Churchill, the then India Secretary, that British officers with whom he had spoken had found Chesney’s two-regiment scheme not as distasteful as Roberts had anticipated. 138 That British officers could have so stiffened their

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opposition to the idea of Indian QCOs in a scant three years seems implausible. What is closer to the truth is that Roberts, himself implacably opposed to military Indianization, sought to magnify British officers’ opposition to it, in the hope that the members of the Viceroy’s Council would reject it outright. The CinC had other problems with the proposal. If the “native” gentlemen trained and commissioned in the Army were found wanting, he contended that they could not be dismissed from the service without provoking a furor from Indian public opinion. He also envisioned, assuming that Indian Lieutenants would be posted to units organized on the British pattern, the abolition of the Indian Officer class. This would necessarily result in the Raj alienating most of the “martial” Indian communities upon whom the Indian Army was so dependent in terms of manpower. Leery of Chesney’s advocacy of military training for Indian Officers, he feared that, if direct commissions as Jemadars were, in future, to require a high standard of education, the supply of suitably martial recruits, who had hitherto done the British such good service, would immeasurably suffer. 139 Finally, Roberts was worried that, if Indians were indeed granted Queen’s Commissions, it would be dangerous to train them in staff work, for while this would better their ability to understand the workings of the Raj’s military system, it would also mean that they would be better able to detect any weakness in the British military position. Such was Roberts’s deep distrust of Indians that he contended that staff training would help disaffected Indian officers lead another uprising, or, at the very least, make it easier for them to commit treason by selling military secrets to Britain’s enemies—very possibly the Russians. 140 Faced with such opposition from the hero of Kandahar, Chesney’s proposal fared badly in Council. Dufferin accepted the CinC’s views in toto, and two other councillors, convinced by Roberts’s arguments to change sides, now opposed the proposal. Chesney, and his two supporters on the Council, were now in the minority. Because of this, the Military Member withdrew the proposal, saying, however, that he did not think the Council was right in leaving the matter like that, and that he felt “ . . . it ought to be brought under the general consideration again before long.” The CinC was relieved. He could not think of anything that would prematurely end the British Raj other than Indian control of the Army. Since it was the Indian deficiency in military leadership that had given the British India, he saw no good reason for them to go out of their way now to provide it. 141 Yet he conceded that, if such a desire was found to exist, and was thought too dangerous to ignore, a start might be made. But he was against making it easy for Indians to actually gain the Queen’s Commission, which would only result in their becoming “ . . . an intolerable nuisance.” He consequently recommended that all “na-

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tive” gentlemen desirous of officer commissions should receive training either at Sandhurst or Woolwich. 142 Roberts’s hopes that the Indianization question would not reappear “ . . . for many a day . . . ” were in vain, for, two years after Chesney’s second proposal had been killed in Council, the matter was again up for consideration. Early in 1890, the Punjab Government forwarded to Calcutta a plan to introduce a course of military training at Aitchison College. Concurrently with this, Chesney doggedly made yet another proposal on Indianization. This time, he advocated providing military education—consisting of military surveying, field fortification, and tactics—to a small proportion of younger Indian Officers from the Indian gentlemanly classes who had a modicum of education. Chesney envisaged that graduates of this course would only be posted to Imperial Service contingents. 143 Though Roberts felt that implementing such a scheme would not cause too much difficulty, and would be a sufficient advance as far as Indianization was concerned, he was worried by Chesney’s assertion that it was only the beginning. Naturally, Roberts thought such talk of “beginnings” was fraught with danger from the military policy perspective. “Once [you] introduce anything like regimental training on however limited a scale,” he warned, “you are on the high road to an Indian Sandhurst and an Indian Staff College.” 144 To counter Chesney’s contention that all that “natives” required to become commissioned officers was education, Roberts now argued that no matter how high you elevated the intellectual powers of the Indian, he would be useless as a military officer because he had not been morally elevated as well. Chesney, according to the CinC, ignored the “fact” that morality was non-existent among “natives,” and he cautioned that “ . . . we should not be undermining the security of our Empire by imparting a high class [of] military education to a body of men, who, at present . . . are deficient in that high sense of honour and possess neither that self-reliance or impartiality which distinguish the British officer.” The Military Member’s insistence on education was, according to Roberts, also wrong-headed from the point of view of the martial races policy, which, by this time, was firmly in place as the recruiting strategy of the Indian Army. It was well known, according to the CinC, that in India, “the least warlike races possess the highest intellectual capabilities. The Goorkhas [sic] and Pathans, and to a lesser extent, the Sikhs, are notoriously as averse to mental exertion as they are fond of manly sports, as apt to fight as they are slow to learn.” Roberts also tried to refute Chesney’s contention that the two planks of his opposition—namely that, on the one hand, “natives” were unfit for higher military command and responsibility, while on the other, that it was dangerous to allow able “natives” to assume higher command—were inconsistent, by asserting that, although Indians were clever enough to orga-

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nize an uprising or mutiny, they were deficient in “self-reliance and those qualities of command which would gain him the respect of our soldiers, and fit him to lead his regiment against a European enemy.” 145 Here, Roberts was confusing the issue. Never once did Chesney state that Indian higher officers should lead men against a European enemy, but Roberts, by raising this specter, again capitalized on the inherent sense of insecurity that characterized Anglo-Indian perceptions at varying degrees during the Raj. After all, war with Russia over Penjdeh had been a very real possibility only five years before, and, in the interests of vigilance, the Indian Army, as the first line of defense against such an invasion, would have to be maintained in perfect fighting trim. Roberts, therefore, felt fully justified in opposing Chesney’s proposal. Indeed, the Military Member himself had given Roberts’s position additional weight by admitting that “Native” officers, no matter how highly educated, were more likely to be guided by self-interest rather than by patriotism. Indeed, Roberts held that, “in a country like India, the inhabitants of which are of various nationalities and religions, without common aspirations or common patriotism, it . . . [was] . . . the bounden duty of Government to maintain the predominance of British officers,” in order to preserve the “impartiality and integrity” of the Raj. 146 Roberts felt that Indians too, realized the benefits of British rule, and recognized that certain posts, including that of a Queen’s Commissioned Officer in the Indian Army, were “ . . . properly reserved for the governing race.” In an imperial age which depended, fundamentally, on the superiority of one race over another, it is easy to understand why Roberts was able to sway the Viceroy’s Council to reject the plans of both Chesney and the Punjab Government. 147 But later that same year, Chesney again raised the question, by placing before the CinC for consideration a letter from Sir Theodore Beck, the Principal of the Mohammedan Anglo-Oriental College, at Aligarh. In this letter, dated August 8, 1890, Beck called for the provision of a military career for the scions of “martial” Muslim families, and contrasted British policy with Russian policy by bringing up the Alikhanoff example. Beck was clearly motivated by the fear that the Hindu-dominated Congress had grabbed the early lead in agitating for higher government employment for its members, and that the Muslims were consequently being shut out. Higher military employment, suggested Beck, would constitute a welcome sign that Calcutta had not forgotten about its Muslim subjects. Beck also warned that unless the more intelligent Muslims had access to advantages similar to those gained by Congress and the Hindus, there was every likelihood that they would turn to agitational methods, or outright disaffection. 148 Roberts, however, stuck firmly to his guns. He informed Chesney that Beck’s proposal was impractical, because it only favored Muslims. To act upon it, therefore would provoke a veritable hornet’s nest of protest from other “martial” races—particularly the Sikhs and the Gurkhas. He also reiter-

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ated his opinion that Indians lacked, in sufficient quantity, the moral fiber necessary for higher command. Why else, in the early days of the Company, did Indian rulers procure the services of European mercenaries, such as Perron and De Boigne? 149 And to Beck’s assertion that the Muslim gentry felt slighted by the military system then extant, because their position in it represented a significant diminution of the position of military status and prestige that they had enjoyed before the British advent, Roberts replied that the “native” gentry’s desire for high military employment was only a recent phenomenon, and that the present outcry for positions in the military service was mainly fictitious. It was based on exaggerated notions of the success of the agitation over Indian Civil Service employment, and was the brainchild of “ . . . the misguided Englishmen and Hindus who direct the machinations of the National Congress.” 150 In April 1891, Chesney retired from the Indian Army and returned to England. Though Roberts later praised the former Military Member as a “personal friend,” with whom he had worked “most harmoniously,” he was most probably glad to see the last of the man and his schemes for an Indian Sandhurst. Roberts himself relinquished the top command in India in 1893, and was succeeded by General Sir George White. In 1894, General Henry Brackenbury, who had taken over from Chesney as Military Member, put forward a proposal to grant QCs to the sons of the Kapurthala Maharaja. White, cut from the same cloth as his predecessor, rejected this, on the grounds that British officers would not stand for it. 151 After a lapse of three years, Indianization was once more an issue for consideration. This time, the impetus came from a hitherto silent quarter: the Indian nobility themselves, or, more precisely from Sir Nripendra Narayan Bhup, the Maharaja of Cooch Behar, a small princely state located in the far northern part of present-day India’s West Bengal state. 152 Succeeding to his Gadi (throne) while an infant, the Maharaja was an Indian prince—a “legitimate” Indian, and a “thorough gentleman [with] polished manners,” who had visited Europe and had resided in England for some years. As a prince, he also was a member of one of the classes Chesney had championed. Therefore, Anglo-India took serious note. Moreover, the Maharaja had shown great interest in the Army. In 1883, he was made an Honorary Major in the British Army. Five years later, he was made an Honorary aide-de-camp to the Prince of Wales (the future Edward VII), with an Honorary LieutenantColonelcy in the British Army. In addition to this, he saw active service on the North-West Frontier attached to the staff of Major-General A.G. Yeatman-Biggs, commander of the Kohat and Khurram Field Force, and he was Yeatman-Biggs’s orderly officer during the Tirah Expedition of 1897. 153 Doubtless encouraged and influenced by what he felt was his long and impressive service to the British Crown, in August 1897 Sir Nripendra wrote directly to Lord George Hamilton, 154 the then India Secretary, about career-

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plans for his eldest son, then at Eton. Not wishing to have his eldest son “grow up as an idler,” the Maharaja wanted him to take up the profession of arms, as a QCO in a British cavalry regiment, until such time as he would succeed to the Cooch Behar gadi (throne). His choice was dictated by the thought that such employment befitted the status of an Indian prince. The training the lad would have to undergo at Sandhurst, before becoming a cavalry officer, would have the added advantage of instilling in him a sense of discipline. In his letter, Sir Nripendra asked Hamilton to exert “ . . . influence to smooth over any difficulties [regarding this matter], should they arise.” Canny and politically astute, the Maharaja ended his letter by reminding Hamilton of the favorable optics the Crown would accrue by granting the scion of a reigning prince a commission in the British Army, especially as 1897 was Queen Victoria’s Diamond Jubilee year, and an occasion for great celebration. 155 Hamilton replied the next month. He thought it an excellent idea to “associate . . . [the Rajkumar of Cooch Behar] . . . with the manly pursuits and a career that would qualify him for the high position he must eventually occupy,” but he would first have to put the matter before his colleagues at the India Office. This would take a bit of time, he explained, as most of them were then absent on leave, but he assured Cooch Behar that the matter would receive their full attention upon their return. 156 Hamilton also wrote to Lord Elgin, the Viceroy, informing him that the India Office was considering Cooch Behar’s request that his son be allowed to compete for Sandhurst. In his letter, Hamilton argued that some relaxation of the rules governing Sandhurst entry was necessary, especially as increasing numbers of scions of the princely families were, like Cooch Behar’s sons, being educated in English public schools. “These boys,” Hamilton wrote, “ . . . are from a good stock, they are not unpopular with their associates, they play games well, . . . and some of them are well qualified for a military career. This is denied to them on the ground that they are not of pure European descent.” 157 Hamilton realized that the War Office would probably oppose any move to open the officer corps of the British Army to Indians. But he did not think their case very strong, since they themselves had recently undermined it by recently sanctioning the admission of Victor Duleep Singh into a British cavalry regiment, the Royal Dragoon Guards. Victor, however, was not a typical Indian prince. He was born in the United Kingdom, attended Eton and Cambridge, and had obtained a special cadetship at Sandhurst. Had Hamilton dug deeper, he would have discovered that Victor’s younger brother, Frederick, was commissioned as a 2nd Lieutenant in the Norfolk (King’s Own) Royal Regiment in 1893. 158 Hamilton was also concerned that the maintenance of this bar would only alienate Indians by emphasizing the racial stigma inherent in the imperial relationship. Indeed, he went so far as to contend that he could not justify the exclusion of someone like Ranjitsinj-

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hi, the public-school-educated heir to the Nawanagar Gadi, who was also a world-class cricketer, from the British Army’s officer cadre. Though conceding that admitting Indians into Sandhurst might cause some embarrassment, Hamilton said that he “ . . . would rather face these difficulties than encounter the ultimate political danger of keeping it closed [to Indians] by the mere assertion and repetition of racial inferiority.” 159 Hamilton must have been aware of the way in which the issue of higher military employment for Indians had become a central feature of nationalist Indian discourse. Surendranath Banerjea had made “the exclusion of countrymen from the Commissioned ranks of the Army” a central point of his presidential address at the 11th annual meeting of Congress in 1895. Banerjea had deplored the fact that the “native soldier, a born warrior . . . though he may have in him the making of a great captain, cannot, in these days, rise beyond the rank of a Subedar-Major or a Rissaldar-Major in the . . . Army. This ostracism of a whole people, [and] the exclusion of representatives of the military races of India from high command in the Army, cannot add to the strength . . . ability, or the greatness of the Empire.” Aware of the growing British tendency to equate their empire with that of classical Rome, Banerjea contended that even Imperial Rome followed a more liberal policy vis-à-vis their subjects than did Imperial Britain. As proof of this, he cited the venerable Gibbon: “[I]n the eyes of the law, all Roman subjects were equal, and all subjects of the Empire were citizens of Rome . . . and the bold adventurer from Germany or Arabia was admitted with equal favor to the military command which citizens alone had been entitled to assume over the conquests of their fathers.” 160 Indian nationalist views of this kind made it all the more imperative, in Hamilton’s mind, to placate the Indian aristocracy. If London and Calcutta could “ . . . keep the affection of the fighting races and the higher orders of the society in India . . . ,” he maintained they could, “ . . . safely ignore the disaffection and dislike of the intellectual non-fighting classes, the Baboos, students, and pleaders.” 161 Early in December 1897, Hamilton brought the matter to the attention of the India Office’s Military Committee. At that time, General Donald Stewart, though still serving on the India Council, was also an influential member of the Military Committee, as was Sir Alfred Lyall, 162 a former Governor of the United Provinces, and, as has been indicated in the introduction of this book, a prominent Anglo-Indian scholar-official. Though admitting that, under the rules then in effect, the Maharaja of Cooch Behar’s son was not eligible for a commission in the British Army, the Military Committee they argued that, from the political perspective, the occasional commissioning of the sons of Indian princes and gentlemen would be very desirable. The committee therefore urged the India Office and Government of India to take whatever steps necessary to expedite this measure. Needless to say, the selection process was to be quite stringent. Young men of the noble and gentlemanly Indian

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classes who desired to take the Sandhurst entrance exam had first to secure the nomination of the Government of India. This then had to be approved by the India Secretary in Council, and by the War Office. Once they had been approved by these three tiers of government, nominees were to be appointed as “extra Queen’s India Honorary Cadets,” and, subsequent to their passing the required entrance exam, were to be admitted to Sandhurst like any other cadet. The committee further recommended that, since there were grave military as well as political objections to admitting these men into the Indian Staff Corps, and to their commanding Indian troops, their service should be confined to the British Army. 163 Hamilton forwarded the Military Committee’s opinion to Elgin in midDecember 1897, and asked the Viceroy for his views, and those of his advisors, so that he could take them to Cabinet. It is clear from the letter Hamilton wrote to accompany the Military Committee’s proposals that he wanted to secure the Viceroy’s assent. According to Hamilton, the Prime Minister, Lord Salisbury, was “ . . . very strong on the subject.” He warned Elgin that, although he realized that this policy contained a certain amount of risk, “ . . . [there was] the danger of doing nothing to conciliate or win over to our side any section of influential and well-to-do native society.” The need for doing this was deemed all the more urgent because of the growth of a unified Indian opinion critical of British rule. To Hamilton, this was a most dangerous tendency, which called for counteractive measures. Though he was unsure of how liberal a scheme the Cabinet would approve, he was confident that it would “not put an impenetrable veto upon all natives of high lineage and good qualifications from entering the army.” 164 Elgin wrote to London after duly discussing the matter in council. Although he had no problem with the principle underlying the Military Committee’s plan, which he saw as securing the princes’ goodwill and strengthening the stability of the Indian Empire through satisfying their military aspirations, he felt that the Military Committee’s plan would “ . . . do little to realize that object.” Elgin perceived the whole question as hinging on influence. He felt that nothing should be done that would possibly tamper with the influence that the Indian princes and ruling families had upon their subjects. Moreover, “[t]he men who . . . [would] . . . send their sons to England . . . were rarely those who retain[ed] influence among their own countrymen.” It is clear from this statement that the Government of India was dead set against undertaking measures that would lessen the “Indian-ness” of the princely and noble classes. It was thought that offering them European military education would make them more politically conscious and therefore more liable to agitate against the Government than to support it. Moreover, Elgin was of the opinion that the scheme, designed as it was for only a very few privileged individuals, would cause resentment among the members of the Indian Officer class, who came from races more martial than the Maharaja of Cooch

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Behar’s, and who had proved both loyal and brave in serving the Indian Army. 165 Another major problem the Viceroy had with the scheme had to do with the powers of command of the Indian gentleman officers. The idea to empower an Indian, no matter how highly born, to command Englishmen was now abhorrent to the Government of India. During the council’s discussion, members had suggested the alternative of appointing the Indians trained at Sandhurst to regiments serving either in England or the colonies. This was rejected on the grounds that the strong sentiment in some of the colonies’ armed forces against “ . . . men of colour . . . being placed in command positions would lead to even more problems.” 166 The plan was also receiving a rough ride in the War Office. On 20 February 1898, the Secretary for War, Lord Lansdowne, informed Hamilton that, despite his desire to oblige the Maharaja of Cooch Behar, he felt the British Government ought to refuse to allow the Maharaja’s son into the commissioned ranks of the army. To buttress his case, Lansdowne cited regulations which stipulated that only individuals of pure European descent were eligible for army commissions. Lansdowne also explained that another reason why the War Office could not approve the India Office plan was that they had just recently rejected repeated representations by the Indian nationalist politician, and erstwhile member of parliament at Westminster, Dadabhai Naoroji for the relaxation of the “Europeans-only” rule vis-à-vis higher commissions in the Army. To turn around so soon after this and approve the India Office scheme would reflect badly on the consistency and trustworthiness of the Government, besides giving another instance of British “perfidy” that the Indian press would not hesitate to milk. 167 Lansdowne therefore urged Hamilton to reconsider his position, especially in view of the widely held belief in the War Office that once commissions were conceded to even the smallest portion of the Indian population, it would be impossible to stop. “If we give way,” he observed, “we shall have a host of young native princes in the army. It would not be good for the army, nor, I think, for [the cadets].” But he ended his letter with the suggestion that if Hamilton wished to pursue the matter further, a meeting between the India Office and the War Office could be arranged, so that both the British and Indian perspectives on the matter could be given a thorough hearing. 168 Hamilton took the opportunity offered by Lansdowne, by requesting the Political Committee of the India Office to prepare a memorandum on the matter of higher commissions for Native Princes. The Political Committee’s memo, written by its President, Sir Alfred Lyall, pointed out that, since the admission of ruling chiefs’ sons to commissioned officer ranks of the British Army would require legal changes, the India Office would be better off arguing for the admission of Indian gentlemen generally. Mindful that Indian recruitment into the Army was firmly anchored on the “martial races,” Lyall

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argued that it would be politically inexpedient to admit sons of Indian chiefs into the higher officer corps while excluding the sons of lower-status martial communities. Lyall thought the only substantive objection that the War Office could offer against admitting sons of ruling princes and chiefs into the officer corps would be that this would adversely affect military efficiency. But he suggested to Hamilton that this could be persuasively countered by asserting that “ . . . the yearly admission of four or five carefully selected cadets of Indian parentage . . . ” could not even remotely pose a threat to the military efficiency of Her Majesty’s Army. War Office objections would be rendered even more untenable if Hamilton stated that the cadets selected would have received the best English education that the English public schools had to offer. Lyall was confident that well-bred Indian youth would find easy acceptance in regimental messes. After all, weren’t they already accepted in English public schools and universities, where they were quite popular? Lyall felt that the acceptance they found within these institutions would be carried over to the army without difficulty. In any case, there was no danger that the flow of Indian youths of princely or noble background into the army would ever become a flood. He did not anticipate “that more than a few Indian youths will really desire to enter a service which offers little or no emolument, and involves long absence from their native country, and practically the adoption of an English life, so long as they remain in the service.” 169 En route to the Secretary of State for India, Lyall’s memorandum first went to General Stewart for comment. Stewart concurred with the two basic points of his colleague’s memo: that, unless legislated, subjects of independent or semi-independent states could not become commissioned officers in the British Army; and that the efforts to secure Parliamentary approval should be dropped in favor of action to break down the War Office’s objections, which seemed, to Stewart, to be solely based on color. Stewart urged that the securing of War Office agreement to the plan would have a highly beneficial political effect in India. But he also claimed that War Office opposition would not arise if the native gentlemen commissioned could be found to be thoroughly efficient in carrying out their duties and responsibilities. If this happened, further openings could be secured through legislation; but conversely, if unsuccessful, the practice could be dropped quietly. 170 Despite these two high-level opinions, Hamilton wanted to make absolutely sure if legislation was indeed required. He therefore asked for the opinion of the India Office legal advisor, Sir Arthur Wilson. There was no doubt in Wilson’s mind that sons of Indian chiefs or princes could not be given commissions without legislation first being passed in Parliament. He explained that this was because they were classified as foreign nationals. This ruling had its origins in the Act of Settlement of 1690, a clause of which forbade any person “ . . . born out of the Kingdoms of England, Scotland, or

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Ireland, or the dominions thereunto belonging . . . , except such as are born of English parents, to hold any place of trust, civil or military.” 171 Not satisfied with this, Hamilton then asked for Wilson’s opinion as to the best way of circumventing this impediment. Could not an act be passed recognizing all Indians as British subjects as far as holding office under the Crown was concerned? To this, Wilson replied that, while it would not be very difficult to draft such an act, the Government would, in doing so, raise wider questions of civil and military employment upon which the government might not want to focus attention at that particular juncture. To Wilson, the best way to proceed was to draft an act somewhat analogous to the 1857 Ionian Islands Act, which would state that military commissions could be granted to any person who was entitled under section 15 of the Foreign Jurisdiction Act 1890, to the protection of His Majesty’s Government. 172 The whole scheme foundered, however, on the continued opposition of the War Office. Lansdowne made it quite clear that he had serious misgivings about both the plan to secure commissions for princes by legislation, as well as Stewart’s proposal to bypass the legislative route by obtaining commissions for a limited number of thoroughly qualified “native gentlemen.” He thought that it would be very difficult, politically, to select a limited number of candidates. “Endless jealousies” would be created by the pursuance of such a policy, and it was very likely that the families obtaining preferred selection would be neither from the most loyal nor the most martial races. In this regard, he agreed with the Viceroy that the types of Indians who desired to send their sons to England to be educated were probably those “of advanced opinions with a veneer of British civilization,” who had not the martial qualities nor the traditions to make good officers. In any case, Lansdowne did not think an English education in England constituted an especially good preparation for the running of an Indian state. This is indeed an odd statement, especially since, at that time, the vast majority of the higher echelons of the administration of British India, being English, had received an English education, often at a public school and then Oxbridge. The statement is even more surprising when one considers, firstly, that Lansdowne had occupied the Indian Viceroyalty not that long before, and therefore should have been conversant with the type of Englishmen serving under him in the Government of India; and, secondly, because one of the pillars of British policy in India had been to ensure that the princely states had some form of sound administration in the British sense of the word. 173 On a purely military basis, Lansdowne believed in the essential propriety of the Act of Settlement’s ruling regarding the British Army’s officer corps. As support, he brought up the old Robertsian argument that Indian commissioned officers would not be accepted in a British regiment, either by their British brother officers, or by the British other ranks whom they would have to command. Furthermore, Lansdowne averred that, once Indians were

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granted officer commissions, it would prove difficult to confine their power of command to only British regiments, as the India Office intended. Indeed, as they progressed higher through the officer ranks, Indian commissioned officers might find themselves commanding Indian troops, which was something the Government of India, the India Office, and the War Office were loath to see. 174 In face of the War Office’s strong opposition, and because the Government of India and some of his own councillors at the India Office seemed unconvinced about the benefits of such a scheme, Hamilton reluctantly wrote to the Maharaja of Cooch Behar that he was unable to comply with the Maharaja’s request. Hamilton ended his letter to the Maharaja by saying that he “ . . . much regretted that . . . [the Maharaja was] . . . thus unable to carry out . . . [his] . . . idea, and that . . . [Hamilton] . . . much wish[ed] that . . . [he] . . . could have . . . assented to it.” 175 In 1894, a year before his death, Chesney wrote, with a touch of frustration, that, as far as the Indian Army was concerned, the Queen’s Proclamation was “a dead letter.” 176 Certainly, his experience, as well as those of Sir Nripendra, Generals Stewart and Brackenbury, Sir Alfred Lyall, and Principal Beck, offer proof of this. Indeed, the first round of the struggle between the champions of Indianization versus its opponents had gone to the latter. Yet, the debate, especially from 1885 onward, had placed the issue at the forefront of the problems that clamored for the attention of Anglo-Indian policymakers. The representation by the Maharaja of Cooch Behar signified a new phase of the debate, because it was the first time that a ruling chief had expressed interest in Indianization. The fact that Sir Nripendra wrote directly to Hamilton, bypassing Calcutta and Simla, bespoke a rising political awareness among princes, that the British would do well to tap into and to strengthen collaborative ties with the “traditional” and loyal Indian aristocracy. All that was required now was a Viceroy of commanding presence and enough interest in seeking a resolution to the Indianization debate to try his hand at formulating his own scheme. George Nathaniel Curzon was just such a man. NOTES 1. Lieutenant-General Sir George Chesney, Military Education for the Natives of India, 12 Jun. 1888, para. 5, BL(APAC):L/MIL/17/5/2202; idem., Memorandum on Sir Ashley Eden’s Memoranda [6 Jul. 1885 & 20 May 1886], 20 May 1886, para. 3, BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19019. 2. General Sir Frederick Roberts, Military Education for Natives, 16 Jul. 1890, in BL(APAC): L/MIL/17/5/1615, Part VI. 3. Munro, Sir Thomas (1761-1827) was one of the key builders of the EIC, and was commissioned into the Madras Army in 1780. After serving in the wars against Hyder and Tipu, Munro, from 1792 onward, became involved in civil administration, eventually evolving the influential Ryotwari land-revenue system. He was Governor of Madras from 1819 until his death in 1827. He maintained a career-long interest in improving the Company’s military forces. See: M. McLaren, “Writing and Making History, Thomas Munro, John Malcolm, and Mountstuart Elphinstone: Three Scotsmen in the History and Historiography of British India,”

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(unpub. PhD thesis: Simon Fraser University, 1992); and B. Stein, Thomas Munro: the Origins of the Colonial State and His Vision of Empire, (Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1989) 4. Munro to Malcolm, 30 Aug. 1817, in Munro Papers, BL(APAC): Mss. Eur. F/151/120. An Ensign was the lowest commissioned officer rank in the British Army. See: Mason A Matter of Honour, p. 63. Munro and Malcolm were both Scots, who, as an ethnicity, prominently participated in the development of the British empire. See: J.M. MacKenzie, “Scotland and the Empire,” International History Review, XV, 1993. 5. Malcolm, Sir John, (1769-1833), was an important Scottish empire-builder in India. Commissioned into the Madras Army in 1783, he subsequently held a series of high diplomatic and administrative posts, culminating with the Governorship of Bombay (1827-1830). He was also a writer of some note, his most famous work being A Sketch of the Political History of India since 1784, (London: John Murray, 1823). See: M. McLaren, “Writing and Making History,” passim. 6. India Office Tract 552: Letter to the Rt. Hon. Sir John Cam Hobhouse, BART., President of the India Board, from Lieutenant-Colonel John Briggs, Madras Army, p. 41. 7. See; Evans Bell, Memoir of General John Briggs of the Madras Army, with Comments on some of his Words and Work, (London: Chatto & Windus, 1885). 8. Briggs, Letter, p. 16. It is important to note here that Subedar Sita Ram had much the same complaint regarding the new British officers. See: Sita Ram, From Sepoy to Subedar, pp. 24–5 9. Briggs, Letter, p. 41. 10. Ibid., pp. 41–42. 11. Tweeddale was CinC Madras from 1842 until 1848. See: A. Farrington, Guide to the Records of the India Office Military Department, (London: India Office Library and Records, 1982), appendix III, p. 456. 12. Bell, Memoir of Briggs, pp. 243–44. 13. Lawrence, Sir Henry M., (1806-1857) born in Ceylon, Lawrence was educated at Foyle School Derry and at the EIC military seminary, Addiscombe; joined Bengal Artillery, 1823; Saw action and fell ill during the 1st Anglo-Burmese War, 1824-1826; thereafter held civil appointments until the outbreak of the 1st Anglo-Afghan war 1839-1842; British Resident, Lahore, 1847; head of Administration, Punjab, 1849; served in Rajputana, 1853; Appointed chief commissioner of newly annexed Oudh (Awadh), 1856; became a famous Anglo-Indian hero and martyr by dying in defense of the British residency at Lucknow in 1857. See: H.E. Raugh, The Victorians at War: an Encyclopedia of British Military History, 1815-1914, (Santa Barbara: ABC-Clio, 2004), p. 207. 14. See; David, The Indian Mutiny, pp. 17–18, 167–8; 222–9; and K. Tidrick, Empire and the English Character (London: I.B. Tauris, 1990), pp. 1–26. So important was Lucknow to Raj symbolism that the Union Jack flew day and night over the residency until the night of 14 August 1947, when it was taken down for fear of being desecrated by Indian “mobs” celebrating India’s freedom. 15. Lawrence to Governor-General Canning, 2 May 1987, quoted in David, The Indian Mutiny, p. 32. 16. Sir Henry Lawrence, Essays, Military and Political, Written in India, (London: W.H. Allen, 1859), p. 154. 17. Quoted in GOI(AD) Despatch No. 57 of 1917, 3 Aug. 1917, para. 8, in BL(APAC): L/ MIL/7/91019. 18. Lawrence, Essays, p. 154. 19. Ibid., p. 154–5; and D.P. Sinha, British Relations with Oudh, 1801–1856: A Case Study, (Calcutta: K.P. Bagchi: 1983), pp. 188–9. 20. R. Suntharalingam, Indian Nationalism: An Historical Analysis, (New Delhi: Vikas, 1983), p. 73; Metcalf, Ideologies, pp. 30–33. 21. P. Chatterjee, The Nation and its Fragments: Colonial and Post-Colonial Histories, (Princeton N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1993), p. 6. 22. See: T. Bhattacharya, Sentinels of Culture: Class, Education and the Colonial Intellectual in Bengal, 1848–85, (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2005); R. Suntharalingam, Politics and National Awakening in South India, (Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 1974); and

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B.T. McCully, English Education and the Origins of Indian Nationalism, (New York: Columbia University Press, 1940). 23. T.B. Macaulay, Speeches, ed., G.M. Young, (London: Oxford University Press, 1935), p. 359. 24. Suntharalingam, Indian Nationalism, pp. 74–5; J. Broomfield, Elite Conflict in a Plural Society, (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1968), pp. 8, 15–20; McCully, English Education, p. 223. 25. D. Chakrabarty, Provincializing Europe: Postcolonial Thought and Historical Difference, (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 2000), p. 4. 26. J.M. Brown, Modern India, pp. 120–21; A. Seal, The Emergence of Indian Nationalism: Competition, and Collaboration in the Later Nineteenth Century, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1968), pp. 367–70; P. Narain, Press and Politics in India, 1885–1905, (Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal, 1968), pp. 8–9. 27. T.R. Metcalf, The Aftermath of Revolt: India, 1857–1870, 2nd ed., (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1990), p. 96; F. G. Hutchins, The Illusion of Permanence: British Imperialism in India, (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1967), pp. 186–9. 28. J.F. Stephen, “The Government of India,” Nineteenth Century, 80, October, 1883, pp. 541–2. 29. See: F.W. Buckler, “The Political Theory of the Indian Mutiny,” in M. N. Pearson (ed.), Legitimacy and Symbols: The South Asian Writings of F.W. Buckler, (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1985). 30. R.J. Moore, Liberalism and Indian Politics, 1872–1922, (London: Edward Arnold, 1966), p. 19. The British conservative vision of empire is fully explored in Thornton, The Imperial Idea, esp. chs. 1-2; and C.C. Eldridge, England’s Mission: The Imperial Idea in the Age of Gladstone and Disraeli, (Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press, 1973). 31. Government of India (Home-Public) Despatch 35 of 1878, 2 May 1878, quoted in H.L. Singh, Problems and Policies, p. 31; and L.S.S. O’Malley, The Indian Civil Service, 1601–1930, (London: John Murray, 1931), p. 214. 32. O’Malley, Indian Civil Service, p. 215; P. Moon, The British Conquest and Dominion of India, (London: Duckworth, 1988), pp. 861, 887; and H. H. Dodwell (ed.), The Cambridge History of India, vol. 6, The Indian Empire, 1858–1919, and R. R. Sethi, The Last Phase, 1919–1947 (New Delhi: S. Chand, 1964), p. 361. 33. McCully, pp. 194–5; and B. Martin Jr., New India, 1885: British Official Policy and the Emergence of the Indian National Congress, (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1969), pp. 1–24. 34. Bandyopadhyay, Plassey to Partition, pp. 110–13. 35. Moore, Liberalism, pp. 19–20; Brown, Modern India, p. 122. 36. The present author remembers being amused, when, as a student in the UK in the mid1980s, he received bank statements referring to him as “esquire.” 37. M. Sinha, Colonial Masculinity: the “Manly Englishman” and the “Effeminate Bengali” in the Late Nineteenth Century, (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1995), pp. 17–18. Research has shown that the pejorative use of Babu was coined by Bengali social satirists, who used it to lampoon the cultural habits of the Bengali nouveau riche in the early Nineteenth Century. See: C. Baxter, “The Genesis of the Babu: Bhabanicharan Banerji and the Kalikata Kamalalay,” in P.G. Robb and D. Taylor (eds), Rule, Protest and Identity: Aspects of Modern South Asia, (London: Curzon Press, 1978), pp. 193–206. 38. Metcalf, Ideologies, pp. 105–06; Suntharalingam, Indian Nationalism, pp. 78–80; Seal, Emergence, pp. 115–120. 39. Lytton to Salisbury, 11 May 1876, in Lytton Papers, BL(APAC): MSS. Eur. E. 218/518. 40. B. Chandra, et al., India’s Struggle for Independence, (New Delhi: Penguin India, 1989), p. 105; I. Banerjee-Dubé, A History of Modern India, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015), p. 197. 41. The phrase was first used by Viceroy Lord Dufferin, in a speech at the St. Andrews Dinner, 30 Nov. 1888. See: S. Joshi (ed.), The Middle Class in Colonial India, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), p. 7.

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42. Thornton, The Imperial Idea, p. 43. M.A. Yapp, “British Perceptions of the Russian Threat to India,” in Modern Asian Studies, Vol. 21(4), 1987, pp. 656–57. See also: Edward Ingram, Commitment to Empire: Prophesies of the Great Game in Asia, 1797–1800, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1981); R. Johnson, “The Penjdeh Crisis and its Impact on the Great Game and the Defence of India, 1885–97,” (unpub. PhD, University of Exeter, 1999); and G.B. Parl. P., CD. 4378 (1885): Further Correspondence Respecting Central Asia. 43. Dufferin and Ava, Frederick John Temple Blackwood, 1st Marquess of, (1826-1902), Anglo-Irish aristocrat and high-level diplomat; educated at Eton and Christ Church College, Oxford, though did not graduate from latter; as commissioner to Syria, 1860, skilfully preserved British interests by preventing establishment of French protectorate in Lebanon; As Governor-General of Canada, 1872-1878, strove to maintain British imperial presence there, instituted inquiry into the Pacific scandal, and preserved the ramparts of Québec City (recognized as UNESCO heritage site, 1985); ambassador to Russia, 1879-1881; while ambassador to Ottoman empire, 1881-1884, adopted conciliatory attitude toward Egypt, which the British had invaded to put down Urabi’s revolt; ensured that Urabi would be exiled, not hanged; As Viceroy of India, 1884-1888, oversaw establishment of Imperial Service Troops, annexation of upper Burma, and defused Penjdeh crisis. See: A. Gailey, The Lost Imperialist: Lord Dufferin, Memory and Mythmaking in an Age of Celebrity (London: John Murray, 2015); M. Yasin, India’s Foreign Policy—The Dufferin Years, (New Delhi: Raj Publications, 1994). 44. Such fallacies would be exploded in the Russo-Japanese war of 1905. See: R.P. Dua, The Impact of the Russo-Japanese War (1905) on Indian Politics, (Delhi: S. Chand, 1966). 45. Martin, New India, p. 105; H.H. Collen, “The Volunteer Force of India,” Journal of the United Service Institution of India, 12 (1883), p. 193. On the British background to volunteering, see: L. Colley, Britons: Forging the Nation, 1707–1837, (London: Pimlico, 1992), pp. 260–313; and E.M. Spiers, The Army and Society, 1815–1914, (London: Longman, 1980), pp. 163–70. 46. Collen, “The Volunteer Force of India,” pp. 194–5. 47. M. Yasin, “The Volunteer Movement,” Quarterly Review of Historical Studies, Vol. 24(4), 1985, p. 29. 48. Ibid., pp. 29–36; Seal, Emergence, pp. 171–4; Martin, New India, pp. 100–12. 49. Bharat Mitra of 14 Feb. 1884 urged the Government of India to form a strong “Native” corps of volunteers, for two reasons. In the short term, such a force would be of “excellent use” against the Russians. In the long term, it was noted that though the British had become great by subjugating other nations, the maintenance of their greatness should not depend on the weakness of the subject races. Rather, the strength of a king lay in the strength of his subjects. See: BL(APAC): L/R/5/10. 50. Martin, New India, p. 100. 51. Bengalee, 7 Mar. 1885, in BL(APAC): L/R/5/11. 52. Martin, New India, p. 100. 53. Surabhi, 14 Apr. 1884, BL(APAC): L/R/5/10. 54. P. Narain, Press and Politics in India, 1885–1905, completely overlooks Indian press interest in military affairs, and an even more recent work, S. Kamra, The Indian Periodical Press and the Production of Nationalist Rhetoric, (Palgrave Macmillan, 2011), sadly perpetuates this. 55. The total net expenditure on the Indian Army in India remained fairly steady between the years 1856–1885, when it was approximately £11.5 million. However, the fall in the value of the rupee in 1885 necessitated the raising of additional monies in India for the pay of British troops and officers. This amounted to Rs. 1,84,000 in 1884–5, and grew rapidly, reaching Rs. 15,00,000 by 1896–7. See: H.L. Singh, Problems and Policies, p. 199. 56. Surabhi, 24 Mar. 1884; 14 Apr. 1884, BL(APAC): L/R/5/10. 57. Burdwan Sanjivani, 10 Mar. 1884, ibid. 58. See: Metcalf, Ideologies, pp. 203–209; and M. Sinha, Colonial Masculinity: the ‘Manly Englishman’ and the ‘Effeminate Bengali’ in the Late Nineteenth Century, (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1995), pp. 33–63. L. James, Raj, pp. 349–52 is good on Anglo-Indian racism.

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59. Swadesamitran, 12 Feb. 1885, BL(APAC): L/R/5/104; Burdwan Sanjivani, 31 Mar. 1885, BL(APAC):L/R/5/11. 60. Burdwan Sanjivani, 2 Oct. 1883, Navavibhakar, 17 Sept. 1883, in BL(APAC): L/R/5/9. 61. Sahachar, 10 Jun. 1885, BL(APAC): L/R/5/11.The claim regarding the salaries of British officers was not an idle one. Eden Commission of 1879 on the organization of the Army had reported that the pay of British officers amounted to approximately half the annual cost of an Indian Army unit. Of the total annual cost of a cavalry regiment of Rs. 250,857, British officers cost Rs. 146,797, and, in an Infantry battalion, of a total annual outlay of Rs. 319,919, British officers cost Rs. 143,793. BL(APAC): L/MIL/17/5/1687:-Report of the Army Organization [Eden] Commission, 15 Nov. 1878, part II, (evidence), paras. 213–217. 62. Navavibhakar, 17 Sept.1883, BL(APAC): L/R/5/9. 63. Swadesamitran, 25 Sept. 1884, BL(APAC): L/R/5/104. 64. Bharat Mihir, 28 Aug. 1883, BL(APAC): L/R/5/9. The example cited by this newspaper, though now generally seen as too simplistic, was nevertheless held to be historical fact in the nineteenth century. Color was lent to it by the accounts of Bede and Gildas, and by the “Groans of the Britons,” an exaggerated appeal to Rome for help in the late 440s C.E. See: J. Blair, “The Anglo- Saxon Period, c. 440–1066,” in K.O. Morgan, (ed.), The Oxford History of Britain, rev. edn., (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), pp. 60–61. 65. Quoted in: D. Omissi, The Sepoy and the Raj, p. 153. 66. Hindu Ranjika, 30 Apr. 1884, BL(APAC): L/R/5/10; Amrita Bazar Patrika, 11 Feb. 1882; Native Opinion, 11 May 1884, 12 Oct. 1884; 24 May 1885. 67. The Rajput dairist, Amar Singh, served in China with the Jodhpur Imperial Service Lancers. See: the Rudolphs with Kanota, Reversing the Gaze, pp. 107–64. See also: S.B. Beatson, A History of the Imperial Service Troops of Native States, with a Short Sketch of Events in Each State, Which have led to Their Employment in Subordinate Co-operation with the Supreme Government, (Calcutta: Superintendent Government Printing, 1903); and R. Head and T. McLenaghan, The Armies of the Indian Princely States: a Record of the Military Forces Maintained by the Indian Princely States, with Particular Reference to Imperial Service Troops/Indian States Forces, vol. 1: an Historical Overview, (Milton Keynes: the Military Press, 1998). 68. S. Sehrawat, “‘Hostages in our Camp’: Military Collaboration between Princely India and the British Raj, c. 1880–1920,” in W. Ernst and B. Pati,(eds), India’s Princely States: People, Princes, and Colonialism, (Abingdon: Routledge, 2007), p. 121. 69. The ““gentleman-officer-scholar” characterization is from D.M. Peers, “Colonial Knowledge and the Military in India, 1780–1860,” Journal of Imperial and Commonwealth History, 33(2), May 2005, p. 157. The Indian Public Works Department was established in 1854 to undertake and supervise the construction of communication and irrigation networks in EIC territory. Though part of the civil administration, it had strong links with the military, having originated as the Engineering Branch of the EIC’s Military Board in 1786. Consequently, a sizeable number of the Presidency Armies’ British officers were seconded to it. This practice continued under the Crown. See: A. Butterworth, “District Administration in Madras, 1818–1858,” in Dodwell and Sethi (eds), The Cambridge History of India, vol. VI: The Indian Empire, 1858–1919, p. 51; T. Chand, A Short History of The Indian People, 5th ed., (Calcutta: Macmillan 1969), pp. 319–20. 70. Sir H. Verney Lovett, “The Development of the Services, 1858–1918,” in Dodwell and Sethi (eds), The Cambridge History of India, vol. VI, pp. 363; 374; P.M. Kirkwood, “The Impact of Fiction on Public Debate in Late Victorian Britain: ‘The Battle of Dorking’ and the ‘Lost Career’ of Sir George Tomkyns Chesney,” Graduate History Review, 4(1), Fall 2012, passim.; and George T. Chesney, Indian Polity: A View of the System of Administration in India, (London: Longmans Green, 1868). 71. See: J. Black, “The Military Influence on Engineering Education in Britain and India, 1848–1906” in The Indian Economic and Social History Review, 46(2), 2009. Section 145(1) of the 1890 Indian Railways Act (No. IX of 1890, 21 Mar. 1890) permitted qualified railway employees to represent railway companies they worked for in civil and criminal proceedings. See: Power of Attorney granted Mr. Gopalsastrial Rama Iyer, Inspector of the South Indian

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Railway Company by Captain A.G. Shelley, R.E., Agent of the South Indian Railway Company, Trichinopoly, Madras Presidency, India, 19 May 1898. 72. DOL: F.C. Barnes to H.M. Durand, 28 Dec. 1882, DOL: Lord H. Ulick-Browne to F.C. Barnes, 26 Dec. 1882; Note by J.W.B., 4 Jan. 1883; Note by H.M. Durand, Secy, GOI FD, 10 Jan. 1883; Note by Viceroy Lord Ripon, 19 Jan. 1883, GOI FD A-Military-G, Aug. 1883, progs. 4–8, NAI; Notes by J.W.R., 13 & 15 Nov. 1883; Note by P.N.S. 4 Jan. 1884; Note no. 846 by the Adjutant-General India, 23 Feb.1884, in GOI FD Internal A, Jan. 1885, progs. 137–146, NAI. 73. Note by Chesney, 16 Apr. 1884, in GOI FD Internal A, Jan. 1885, progs, 137–146, NAI. 74. Stewart, Field-Marshal Sir Donald Martin, (1824-1900), Anglo-Scottish Indian Army Officer; educated at Aberdeen University; commissioned 9th Bengal Infantry, 1840; fought in Aka Khel Expedition to the North-West Frontier,1854; participated in retaking of Delhi and Lucknow, 1857-1858; Deputy Adjutant-General, Bengal Army, 1862; Commanded Bengal Brigade in Abyssinian expedition, 1867; commandant of Andaman Island prison, 1872-1878; commanded Quetta Army in 2nd Anglo-Afghan War, 1878-1880; CinC India, 1881-1885; member, Council of India, 1886-1895. 75. Minute: Lieutenant-General Sir George Chesney to General Sir Donald Stewart, 22 Jan. 1885 [hereafter referred to as Chesney’s Minute, 22 May 1885], para. 1, BL(APAC):L/MIL/7/ 19019. 76. Ibid. 77. Indian Polity, 3rd edn. pp. 268–9. 78. This idea manifested itself in the writings of Henry Maine and Alfred Lyall, two of the most notable Anglo-Indian scholar-officials. See: Metcalf, Ideologies, pp. 68–92. 79. Indian Polity, 3rd edn., pp. 268–9. 80. On the Scots, see: H.R. Trevor-Roper, “The Invention of Tradition: the Highland Tradition of Scotland,” in E.J. Hobsbawm and T.R. Ranger (eds.), The Invention of Tradition, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983); and Streets, Martial Races, passim. On the “pacification” of India, see: K. Roy, The Oxford Companion to Modern Warfare in India: from the Eighteenth Century to Present Times, (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2009), ch. 6. 81. Chesney’s Minute, 22 Jan., 1885, paras. 2–4, BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19019. 82. Lord Curzon’s Speech opening a conference on the Chiefs’ Colleges, Calcutta, 15 Jan., 1902, in G.N. Curzon, Lord Curzon in India: Being a Collection of his Speeches as Viceroy and Governor-General of India, 1898–1905, ed. T.R. Raleigh, (London: Macmillan, 1906), pp. 245, 249. 83. G. Best, “Militarism and the Victorian Public School,” in B. Simon and I. Bradley, eds, The Victorian Public School: Studies in the Development of an Educational Institution, (Dublin: Gill and Macmillan, 1975); passim.; and I. Worthington, “Antecedent Education and Officer Recruitment: An Analysis of the Public School-Army Nexus, 1849–1908” (unpub. PhD: University of Lancaster UK, 1984). 84. Report on Chiefs’ Colleges, 1902, paras. 10–16, BL(APAC): L/P&S/10/5; and H. Sharp, Progress of Education in India, 1912–1917: Seventh Quinquennial Review, (Calcutta: Government Superintendent Printing, 1918), vol. I, para 441. See: J.A. Mangan, The Games Ethic and Imperialism: Aspects in the Diffusion of an Ideal, (Harmondsworth, UK: Penguin, 1986); and Keen, ch. 2. 85. Quoted in Memorandum by Sir Walter Lawrence, Aug. 31 1901, in GOI FD, Secret I, Dec., 1901, progs. 1–24, NAI. 86. Chesney’s Minute, 22 Jan. 1885, paras. 3–4; 2, BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19019. 87. Government of India, Army Department, Despatch 47 of 1885, 21 Mar. 1885 [hereafter: GOI (AD) . . . ], paras. 1, 5, BL(APAC): L/MIL/3/133. 88. Ibid., paras. 5, 9–10. A system of “Direct Commissions” to the lowest Indian Officer rank had been recommended by the Eden Commission, and was duly adopted in 1880. This was done in order to attract to the Indian military the more intelligent younger members of the martial races, who might otherwise have entered more lucrative civil professions. It is clear that Anglo-Indian military authorities did not forsee that, once Indians so commissioned had reached the highest VCO rank, they would be frustrated that they could rise no higher. But then

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again, they felt safe assuming that good “martial race” sepoys would always defer to “the governing race.” See: Longer, Red Coats, p. 122. 89. GOI(AD) Despatch 47 of 1885, 21 Mar. 1885, paras. 9–10, 5, BL(APAC):L/MIL/3/133. 90. Ibid., para 7. 91. See: Brigadier General Sir Walter Braithwaite, “For the Conduct of an Army, Character Weighs More than Knowledge or Science,” Journal of the United Services Institution of India, vol. 42 (1913), 92. Kimberley, John Wodehouse, 1st Earl of, (1826-1902), career politician; occupied ministerial positions at Westminster, 1850s-1880s, such as Lord Lieutenant of Ireland (!864-1866), Colonial Secretary (1870-1874; 1880-1882), and India Secretary (!882-1885); a Whig, from the more conservative wing of the Gladstonian Liberal Party. See: M. Bentley, Politics Without Democracy, 1815-1914: Perception and Preoccupation in British Government, (London: Fontana, 1984), p. 381. 93. Sir Ashley Eden, (1831-1887), prominent Anglo-Indian official. Nephew of George Eden, 1st Earl of Auckland. Educated at Rugby, Winchester, and Haileybury. Eden joined ICS and posted to Rajshahi district in Bengal, 1852. In 1856, he was posted magistrate to Murshidabad. While there, helped quell disturbances in 1857. In 1860–63, he was involved in EIC diplomatic relations with Sikkim and Bhutan. From 1871-77, was the first civil governor of British Burma. In 1877, he was appointed Lieutenant-Governor of Bengal, a position he held for five years. During this time, he chaired the Indian Army Reorganization Committee, 1879. In 1882, he resigned, and returned to England, where he joined the India Council. See: H.M. Stephens, and K.H. Prior, “Eden, Sir Ashley (1831–1887).” Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (online ed.). Oxford University Press. doi:10.1093/ref:odnb/8447 (accessed 16 Oct., 2018). 94. See: A.B. Cook and J. Vincent, The Governing Passion: Cabinet Government and Party Politics in Britain, 1885–1886, (Brighton: Harvester, 1974). 95. Kimberley to Dufferin, 15 May 1885, Dufferin Papers, BL(APAC): MSS. Eur. F. 130/3; Secretary of State for India (SSI) Military Despatch No. 88 of 1886, 15 Apr. 1886, para. 6, in BL(APAC): L/MIL/3/2121; Note by Sir Ashley Eden, 8 Feb. 1886, para. 4, Enclosures to SSI Military Despatch No. 88 of 1886, 15 Apr. 1886, in BL(APAC): L/MIL/3/950. 96. SSI Military Despatch No. 88 of 1886, 15 Apr. 1886, para. 6, in BL(APAC): L/MIL/3/ 2121; Secret Memorandum by Field Marshal Lord Napier of Magdala [hereafter: Napier’s Secret Memo . . . ], 11 May 1885, para. 7, Enclosures to SSI Military Despatch No. 88 of 1886, 15 Apr. 1886, BL(APAC): L/MIL/3/950. 97. SSI Military Despatch No. 88 of 1886, 15 Apr. 1886, para. 6, BL(APAC): L/MIL/3/ 2121; Lieutenant-General Sir Charles Brownlow, Appointment of Natives to Commands of Regiments in India, 24 May 1885, BL(APAC): L/MIL/17/5/1719. Arabi, known today as “Urabi” led a successful coup d’état against the corrupt Egyptian Khedive. The extreme British reaction was due to the fact that Urabi’s nationalist regime threatened British strategic interests in Egypt, especially their control of the Suez canal, a vital imperial lifeline. 98. Secret Memorandum by Sir Charles Reid, 19 May, 1885; and Secret Memorandum by General Sir Donald Martin Stewart, 21 Jan. 1886, [hereafter: Stewart’s Memo . . . ] para. 6, Enclosures to SSI Military Despatch No. 88, 15 Apr., 1886, in ibid. BL(APAC): L/MIL/3/950. 99. Memorandum by Sir Ashley Eden on the Government of India Despatch No. 47, dated 21st March 1885 (on Native Officers) [hereafter: Eden’s Memo . . . ] 6 Jul. 1885, para. 7, BL(APAC): L/MIL/17/5/1723. 100. Secret Memorandum by General Frederick Haines, 18 May 1885, para. 2, Enclosures to SSI Military Despatch No. 88 of 1886, 15 Apr. 1886, BL(APAC): L/MIL/3/950. 101. Napier’s Secret Memo, 11 May 1885, para. 7; Memorandum by General Sir Peter S. Lumsden [hereafter: Lumsden’s Memo . . . ], 20 Jul. 1885, Enclosures to SSI Military Despatch No. 88 of 1886, 15, Apr. 1886, in ibid. 102. Stewart’s Memo, 21 Jan. 1886, para 6, in Enclosures to SSI Military Despatch No. 88 of 1886, 15 Apr. 1886, in ibid. 103. Kimberley to Dufferin, 15 May 1885, in Dufferin Papers, BL(APAC): MSS. Eur.F. 130/ 3.

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104. On Alikhanov-Avarsky, see: A. Morrison, Russian Rule in Samarkhand, 1868–1910, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), p. 144; and G.N. Curzon, Russia in Central Asia in 1889 and the Anglo-Russian Question, (London: Longmans, 1889), pp. 122–5. 105. Kimberley to Dufferin, 15 May 1885, Dufferin Papers, BL(APAC): MSS. Eur. F. 130/3; Secret Memorandum by General Sir R. Meade, 23 May 1885, para 2; and Secret Memorandum by General Sir R. Bright, 19 May 1885, para 3, Enclosure to SSI Despatch No. 88 of 1886, 15 Apr. 1886, BL(APAC): L/MIL/3/950. 106. Note by Sir Ashley Eden, 8 Feb., 1886, para. 6, Enclosures to SSI Military Despatch No. 88 of 1886, 15, Apr. 1886, in BL(APAC): L/MIL/3/950. 107. The Guides were a corps of irregular cavalry founded by Henry Lawrence in 1846 to procure intelligence and act as guides to regular forces in the newly conquered areas of the Punjab and the frontier beyond. Its first commander, and, initially, only British officer, was Lieutenant Henry Lumsden. The Corps, which was later integrated into the Punjab Field Force, saw action in the second Anglo-Sikh war of 1849, the Siege of Delhi in 1857, the Cavagnari incident of 1879, and numerous frontier actions. See: Mason, A Matter of Honour, pp. 328–9. 108. GOI(AD) Despatch No. 57 of 1917, 3 Aug. 1917, para. 12, in BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/ 19019. A reserve system for the Indian Armies was instituted in 1886–7, in response to the Russian war scare. Under the terms of this system, there were two classes of reserve—an active and a garrison reserve. In keeping with the traditions of the Indian Army, service was to be voluntary, and men with between five and twelve years color service were eligible for the active reserve; the garrison reserve was open to men who had retired after twenty-one years’ service (either all with the colors or color and active reserve service combined). The active reserve was to be called up for a months’ training every year, and the garrison reserve for the same period once every two years. This system was in effect until 1923. See: Army in India, 1924, pp. 22–23. 109. Roberts’s attitudes toward India, the Indian Army, and the Empire can be gained by looking at his memoirs, Forty-One Years in India from Subaltern to Commander-in-Chief, 2 vols., (London: Macmillan, 1897). See also: D. James, Lord Roberts, (London: Hollis and Carter, 1954) and W.H. Hannah, “Bobs,” Kipling’s General: the Life and Times of Field Marshal Earl Roberts of Kandahar, (London: Leo Cooper, 1972). 110. Mason, A Matter of Honour, p. 340; Roberts, Forty-One Years in India, II, pp. 91–2; B.S. Cohn, “Representing Authority in Victorian India,” in Hobsbawm and Ranger (eds), The Invention of Tradition, p. 187; O.T. Burne, “The Empress of India,” Asiatic Quarterly Review, vol. 3, 1887, p. 22; B. Farwell, Queen Victoria’s Little Wars, (New York: Norton, 1972), pp. 200–17, passim. 111. General Sir Frederick Roberts, Memorandum on a Proposal of the Government of India to Appoint Native Gentlemen to the Commissioned Ranks of the Indian Army in the same Ranks as European Officers, 29 Jul. 1886 [hereafter: Roberts’ Memo, 29 Jul. 1886 . . . ], paras. 1, 6; Roberts to General Donald Stewart, 6 Aug., 1886; Roberts to Sir Alfred Lyall, 24 Sept. 1884, in BL(APAC): L/MIL/17/5/1615, Confidential Correspondence of General Sir Frederick Roberts, pts.. pts. III, VI(1); VII. 112. Roberts Memo, 29 Jul. 1886, para. 2. 113. Ibid., paras. 7–9. 114. Ibid., paras. 10–11. 115. Roberts mentioned four of these Indian Officers by name: Ressaidar Mohammed Afzal Khan (11th Bengal Lancers); Subedar-Major Mouladad (20th Punjab Infantry); Subedar-Major Natha Singh (23rd Pioneers); and Ressaldar-Major Hassan Ali Khan (13th Bengal Lancers). Ibid., para. 14. 116. Ibid., para. 15. 117. Navavishakar, 16 May 1885; Surabhi, 16 June 1885; Sadharani, 21 June 1885, BL(APAC): L/R/5/11; Swadesamitran, 7 Jul. 1885, BL(APAC): L/R/5/105. 118. Bandyopadhyay, Plassey to Partition, p. 232; J.R. McLane, Indian Nationalism and the Early Congress, (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1977), p. 89. 119. Roberts thought that the former honor should go to men like Ressaidar-Major Muhammad Aslam Khan, of the 5th Bengal Cavalry, who was then officer commanding the Khyber Levies. As for the latter honor, he did not have any specific candidate in mind. See: Roberts to

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Dufferin, 30 Mar. 1887; General Sir Frederick Roberts, Memorandum on the Question of the Employment and Rank of Native Officers, 11 May 1887, [hereafter: Roberts’ Memo, 11 May, 1887] paras. 2–3, in BL(APAC): L/MIL/17/5/1615, pt. IV. 120. GOI Military Despatch No. 139 of 1887, 12 Aug. 1887, paras. 1–4, BL(APAC): L/MIL/ 3/138. 121. Cross, Richard Assheton, 1st Vicount, (1823-1914) Conservative politician; elected to Parliament, 1857; Home Secretary in Disraeli’s administration, 1874-1880; Salisbury’s India Secretary, 1886-1892; Lord Privy Seal, 1895-1900. See: M. Bentley, Politics without Democracy, 1815-1914; Perception and Preoccupation in British Politics, (London: Fontana, 1984), p. 376. 122. SSI Military Despatch No. 314 of 1887, 30 Nov. 1887, paras. 2–8, in BL(APAC): L/ MIL/3/2122; The London Gazette, 14 Jan., 1888, p. 2. 123. Sir George Chesney, Military Education for the Natives of India, 23 Jan. 1888 [hereafter: Chesney’s Minute, 23 Jan. 1888], para. 6, BL(APAC): L/MIL/17/5/2202. 124. McLane, Early Congress, pp. 53–63; B. Chandra, et al., India’s Struggle for Independence, (New Delhi: Penguin India 1989), p. 72; A.M. Zaidi & S. Zaidi (eds.), The Encyclopedia of the Indian National Congress, (New Delhi: S. Chand, 1976–1994), vol. 1, pp. 49; 226. 125. Zaidi & Zaidi, Encyclopedia of the Indian National Congress, vol. I, pp. 193–5; 226. 126. Ibid., p. 195. 127. Chesney’s Minute, 23 Jan. 1888, paras. 7; 14, BL(APAC): L/MIL/17/5/2202. 128. Ibid., paras. 22–23 129. Ibid., paras. 24–26. 130. Ibid., para 17. 131. Ibid., paras. 21–22. 132. Ibid., paras 28–29. 133. Ibid., paras. 28–31. The Roorkee school was set up in response to a recommendation of the Eden Commission, which had urged that “ . . . Native officers ought to be encouraged to take upon themselves the full responsibility of their troops and companies in the field, in cantonment, or in detachment . . . [because] . . . the greater the responsibility and power committed to them, the more efficiently they seem to perform their trust.” See: Longer, Red Coats, pp. 121–2. 134. Chesney’s Minute, 23 Jan. 1888, paras. 32; 2; 34. BL(APAC): L/MIL/17/5/2202. 135. Roberts, Forty-One Years in India, vol. I, p. 521; Roberts to H.R.H. the Duke of Cambridge, 13 May 1888; Roberts to Brownlow, 14 May 1888; and Roberts to Lyall, 22 Jun. 1888, BL(APAC): L/MIL/17/5/1615, pt. viii. 136. General Sir Frederick Roberts, Memorandum on Military Education for the Natives of India, 18 May 1888 [hereafter: Roberts’s Memo, 18 May 1888], paras. 4; 16;10, ibid., pt. vi(1). 137. Ibid., paras. 13–15. 138. Roberts to R. Churchill, 26 May 1885, in BL(APAC): L/MIL/17/5/1615, pt. ii. 139. Roberts’s Memo, 18 May 1888, paras. 18–20, in ibid., pt. vi(1). 140. Ibid., paras. 19–20. 141. Roberts to Lansdowne, 17 Mar. 1890; Roberts to Lyall, 22 Jun. 1888, in ibid., pts. v; viii. 142. Roberts to Lyall, 22 Jun. 1888, in ibid., pt. viii.. 143. Roberts to Lansdowne, 17 Mar. 1890; General Sir Frederick Roberts, Memorandum on Military Education for Natives, 27 May 1890 [hereafter: Roberts’s Memo, 27 May 1890], para. 3, in ibid., pts. v; vi(2); GOI Military Proceedings 1890: 3187–90A, p. 20; GOI(AD) Despatch No. 57 of 1917, 3 Aug. 1917, para. 16, in BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19019. 144. Roberts’s Memo, 27 May 1890, para. 4, BL(APAC): L/MIL/17/5/1615 pt. vi(2). 145. Ibid., paras. 5; 10; 6. 146. General Sir Frederick Roberts, Military Education for Natives, 16 Jul. 1890, in BL(APAC): L/MIL/17/5/1615, pt. vi. 147. Ibid.; Lansdowne to Roberts, 15 Jul. 1890, in Roberts Papers, 7101–23–34: Letters from Lord Lansdowne, NAM.

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148. General Sir Frederick Roberts, The Inexpediency of Substituting Native for British Officers in the Indian Army, 6 Oct. 1890 [hereafter: Roberts’s Memo, 6 Oct. 1890], paras. 2, 9, in BL(APAC): L/MIL/17/5/1615, pt. vi. 149. See: H. Compton, A Particular Account of European Military Adventurers in Hindustan, (London: Unwin 1893); and S. Bidwell, Swords for Hire: European Mercenaries in Eighteenth Century India, (London: John Murray, 1971). 150. Roberts’s Memo, 6 Oct. 1890, paras. 7–8, in BL(APAC): L/MIL/17/5/1615, pt. vi. 151. Roberts, Forty-One Years in India, vol. 2, p. 531; Elgin to Hamilton, 24 Feb., 1897, paras. 2–5, Hamilton papers, BL(OIOC): MSS. Eur. C. 125/2. 152. On knighthoods for Indian princes, see: J. McLeod, “The English Honours System in Princely India, 1925–1947,” in Journal of the Royal Historical Society, 3rd Series, Vol. 4(2), July, 1994.. 153. Demi-Official Letter (hereafter DOL): Lord H. Ulick-Browne to F.C. Barnes, Feb. 26 1882, Keep-With 1, in GOI FD, A-Military-G, August 1883, progs. 4–8, NAI; R. Lethbridge, The Golden Book of India, a Genealogical and Biographical Dictionary of the Ruling Princes, Chiefs, Nobles, and Other Personages, Titled or Decorated, of the Indian Empire (London: Macmillan, 1893), pp. 269–70. 154. Hamilton, Lord George, (1845-1924), Conservative British politician; education, Harrow; elected to House of Commons, 1868. held a number of important ministerial positions in Conservative-Unionist Governments, the most important being as First Lord of the Admiralty, 1886-1892, and as India Secretary, 1895-1902. His political life has thus far eluded historical scrutiny. See: C.S. Sundaram, “A Grudging Concession,” p. 143. 155. Letter: Maharaja of Cooch Behar to The Secretary of State for India, 5 Aug. 1897, in Curzon Papers BL(APAC) Mss. Eur. F. 111/253 156. Letter: Secretary of State to [Maharaja of] Cooch Behar, 20 Sept. 1897, in ibid.. 157. Commissions in the British Army for the Sons of Indian Native Princes and Gentlemen: a Note by the Secretary of State for India, 15 Nov. 1898, in ibid. 158. Extract from letter: Hamilton to Elgin, 26 Nov.1897, in ibid.; M. Alexander and S. Anand, Queen Victoria’s Maharajah: Duleep Singh, 1838–1893, (New York: Taplinger, 1980); and http://webarchive.nationalarchives.gov.uk/+/http://www.movinghere.org.uk// galleries/roots/asian/servicerecords/britarmy.htm (accessed 2 Jul. 2018). 159. Commissions In the British Army for the Sons of Indian Native Princes and Gentlemen: A Note by the Secretary of State for India, 15 Nov. 1898, in Curzon Papers, BL(APAC): MSS. Eur. F. 111/253. 160. Presidential Address of Surendranath Banerjea, 11th Indian National Congress, Poona, 1895, in A.M. Zaidi (ed.), Congress Presidential Addresses, (Delhi: S. Chand, 1968) vol. 1, pp. 268–70; For the Roman influence on British imperial mythology and thought, see: R. Betts, “The Allusion to Rome in British Imperialist Thought of the Late Nineteenth and Early Twentieth Centuries,” Victorian Studies, vol. 15(2), 1971, 161. Hamilton to Elgin, 16 Nov. 1897, in Hamilton Papers, BL(APAC): MSS. Eur. C. 125/2. 162. Lyall, Sir Alfred Comyn (1835-1911) Anglo-Indian administrator/scholar; educated at Eton and Haileybury; joined ICS 1856; posted as assistant magistrate Bulandshahr (upper Doab), which he helped “pacify” during 1857 uprising; helped “restore order” in Shahjehanpur, 1858; assistant magistrate Agra, 1862; district manager Nagpur, 1864; eventually rose to be Secretary of the GoI Foreign Department, 1878-1881; Lieutenant-Governor Northwestern Provinces and Chief-Commissioner Oudh (Awadh), 1882-1887; Member, India Council, 18881902. He was also a prolific author, writing biographies of Warren Hastings and Lord Dufferin, and the book, The Rise and Expansion of British Dominion in India, (London: John Murray, 1893). See: E. Stokes, The English Utilitarians and India, (Oxford: Clarendon, 1959), p. 331. 163. Opinion of the Military Committee, 3 Dec. 1897, in Curzon Papers, BL(APAC): MSS. Eur. F. 111/253. 164. Extract: Private Letter Hamilton to Elgin, 16 Dec. 1897, in ibid.. 165. Elgin to Hamilton, 5 Feb 1898, in ibid.. 166. Ibid. 167. Letter: Lansdowne to Hamilton, 20 Feb. 1898, in ibid. Naoroji, the “Grand Old Man” of the early Congress, was elected on the Liberal ticket in Central Finsbury in 1892, and held the

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seat until 1895. See: S. Mukherjee, “‘Narrow Majority’ and ‘Bow-and-Agree’: Public Attitudes Towards the Elections of the First Asian MPs in Britain, Dadabhai Naoroji and Mancherjee Bhowanaggree, 1885–1906,” Journal of the Oxford University History Society, 2, 2004. 168. Letter: Lansdowne to Hamilton, 20 Feb. 1898, in Curzon Papers, BL(APAC): MSS. Eur. F. 111/253. 169. Memorandum by Sir Alfred Lyall, Chairman, Political Committee, India Office, in ibid. 170. Note: Stewart to Hamilton, 14 May 1898, in ibid. 171. Note by Sir Arthur Wilson, 24 May 1898. in ibid. In his note, Wilson wrongly dates the Act of Settlement at 1790. 172. Hamilton to Wilson, 24 Sept. 1898; Wilson to Hamilton, 28 Sept. 1898., in ibid. 173. Lansdowne had been Viceroy from December 1888 to January 1894 in ibid. On the governance of princely states, see Keen, Princely India and the British, esp. chs. 2, 4 174. Note by the Marquess of Lansdowne, 11 Nov. 1898, in Curzon Papers BL(APAC): MSS. Eur. F. 111/253. 175. Hamilton to the Maharaja of Cooch Behar, 21 Nov. 1898, in ibid. 176. Chesney, Indian Polity, p. 268.

Chapter Three

The Imperial Cadet Corps: Its Formation and Pedagogy, 1900–1915

“I would myself fearlessly lay down the proposition that India can only be held with the aid (and that the spontaneous aid) of her own sons; and that great as is the heroism, and indispensable as is the power of lead of the British officer in battle, these sources of strength will receive a reinforcement by no means to be despised in the military comradeship of Indian gentlemen of the highest birth and position, not merely serving themselves, but exercising, as they can hardly fail to exercise, a personal influence upon the native troops with whom they are associated.” —Lord Curzon, 1900 1 “[The Corps should, ideally be a] university for the nobles of India, a place where they simply must come [even] if they have to be dragged here by the scruff of their necks, so that, by and by, when the traditions of the Cadet Corps are diffused throughout India, a noble spirit may arise, the young bloods may consider it the correct thing to come here, and the ‘best born’ may actually become ‘the best.’ —Major W.A. Watson, 1906 2

The Imperial Cadet Corps marked the first time something approaching professional military training and higher officer commissions were extended to the Indian subjects of the Raj. Its existence decisively and firmly put the question of substantive higher officer commissions for Indians on the table, where Anglo-India could ignore it no longer; and it established the precedent for the officer training of Indians in India. This chapter details the origins of the Corps and evaluates its pedagogy, in terms of ideology and actual skills taught. It also describes, to some extent, the life of a cadet there. 3 Undeterred by the failure of Sir Nripendra’s proposal, Hamilton was determined to press the princes’ claim regarding Indianization. In 1900, he 83

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opined that, after the princes’ “ . . . exhibition of loyalty and martial ardour [in the then ongoing Boer War] it is unjust and impolitic to deny them all prospect of military service, except in the lower grades. The native princes are supposed to be our most loyal adherents, but we have not made their . . . positions very enviable.” 4 In George Nathaniel Curzon, the incoming Viceroy, he found a willing and like-minded ally. Curzon was one of the most complex, colorful, and controversial men to occupy the Viceroyalty. 5 He was a member of what the journalist Scott Anderson calls “ . . . that remarkable subclass of British aristocrats of the late-imperial age known as the ‘Amateurs’ . . . [It] denoted a select group of wealthy and usually titled young men, whose breeding, education, and freedom from careerist pressures—it was considered terribly déclassé for such men to hold down a bona fide job—allowed them to dabble over a broad range of interests and find all doors open to them.” 6 Though titled, Curzon was relatively poor, and therefore needed a job. Curzon was a romantic imperialist, who seems to have taken to heart the advice in Benjamin Disraeli’s novel Tancred about the East being a career, in that an interest in the East was, to a “bright young Westerner [like Curzon himself] . . . an all-consuming passion.” 7 Indeed, he had wanted to be Viceroy since he had heard a lecture by Sir James Fitzjames Stephen during his schooldays. In Curzon’s case, this ambition combined with a prodigious capacity for work that did not flag even in his twilight years, despite a chronic back condition that would have debilitated other men. Indeed, Disraeli’s successor as Tory party leader and eventual prime minister, Lord Salisbury, ventured that Curzon was the Tories’ best expert on Asia; for, by the time Curzon was appointed to the Viceroyalty, Curzon had visited India and Central Asia four times, and had published three books on Britain’s Asian policy. 8 Hamilton informed the new Viceroy that he desired to “soften the racial bar” in the Indian Army by granting a limited number of officer commissions to suitably educated scions of Indian princely houses, an idea that had the backing of both Salisbury and the Queen, as well as Hamilton’s own council. He therefore urged Curzon to quickly draft a proposal that would take care to overcome the opposition both of the War Office and particularly the Colonial Secretary, Joseph Chamberlain, who feared that any concession to Indians over higher officer commissions would subject the Colonial Office to similar demands from other “coloured races” of the empire—something he wished to avoid at all costs. 9 The Viceroy enthusiastically complied. In June 1900, Curzon, assisted by Sir Walter Lawrence, his private secretary, 10 waded into the Indianization debate by producing a massive 43-paragraph memorandum outlining a proposal entailing the formation of an Imperial Cadet Corps (ICC) to meet the military aspirations of Indian princes and gentlemen. Curzon was confident

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that his scheme would solve the issue once and for all, and highlighted why this plan was superior to those that had gone before. His main targets were Chesney’s proposals. The 1885 special regiments scheme was bound to fail because it tried to cater to two classes, the educated and sophisticated sons of princes and aristocrats, and the rustic and unlettered Indian Officers and their sons. Mixing these two classes in a regimental mess would, Curzon felt, only lead to friction and jealousy. In any case, Curzon thought there was no need to cater to the Indian Officer class, since they had shown no interest in higher commissions, and were satisfied with senior Indian Officer ranking and the honors associated with them. 11 Curzon also critiqued the 1885 proposal for not considering such important questions as: whether or not British officers should be attached to the native regiments for the transitional period, when they were moving from an all-British officer establishment to an all-Indian one; whether these Indian regiments should be brigaded and stationed with British units; and whether their establishments should be fixed or moveable. Here, Curzon and Lawrence had not done their homework, because, as the previous chapter has shown, Chesney had indeed dealt with these points. But Curzon proceeded to make similar baseless criticisms of Chesney’s 1888 proposal for an Indian military college, for having an arbitrary selection process, and not providing tangible employment for graduates. 12 The ICC would have the following features. Eligibility was to be exclusive to young men of the Indian gentry and nobility of aristocratic birth. It was to provide military education and training to these youths at an Indian location, as opposed to Sandhurst or another UK site. This was because of the Viceroy’s belief that Indian ruling chiefs and heads of aristocratic households would bridle at having to send their sons or close relations to a far-off land, where their caste-imposed ritual purity, especially as regards eating, would be difficult to maintain. Membership in the Corps was to be based on selection, which meant that applicants would be carefully screened before admission. A basic prerequisite for admission was an English education, obtained either in India or Britain. The Corps was to be depicted as a political, rather than a military measure. Here, Curzon had clearly learned from Chesney’s experience that the Corps stood more of a chance at securing approval if it were depicted as a political measure with control and supervision of it in Viceregal hands, rather than as a military one. Finally, the Corps was to be viewed as an experiment, capable, if successful, of expansion. 13 The ICC was to be small, ideally consisting of between 20–30 cadets. In addition to their military education and training, cadets were to be attached to the Viceregal Durbar (court) at Calcutta for “the season”—the center of Anglo-Indian social life, which lasted from December to the end of February, the most tolerable months in terms of temperature—and on special ceremonial occasions. The Government of India’s Foreign Department, which handled Calcutta’s dealings with the princely states, was to be in charge of the Corps.

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The normal course at the ICC was to last two years. However, those few cadets who showed real promise would undergo a third year of specialised military training. Upon successfully completing this third year, cadets would be granted commissions in a “special class”: His Majesty’s Native Indian Land Forces (HMNILF), which entitled the holder to exercise command over “ . . . all Native officers, soldiers, and other persons belonging to Our Native Indian Forces.” 14 Borrowing, but characteristically not acknowledging, an idea first floated by Lord Cross in 1886, Curzon strongly preferred that holders be posted only in extra-regimental billets—as aides-de-camp, and on the staffs of general officers—where they would command nobody, and be subordinated to the most junior British officer, like all other Indians then serving in the Raj’s military. 15 There was ample scope for appointing HMNILF commission holders to staff posts. 16 By one calculation, if the four Army Commands, the ten firstclass districts, the twenty second-class districts, and the Inspectors-General of the artillery, the cavalry, and the Imperial Service Troop (IST) contingents each took one such officer on their staffs, 37 postings could be made available. In addition, if the officers commanding the twelve large garrisons in India could each take a HMNILF officer, a total of 49 posts would be available. It was not envisaged that the HMNILF officers would be of much use to the staffs to which they were posted. However, “they would be in a position to gain, if they chose, a considerable amount of military knowledge, which would at least render them fit for command of the troops of their own states.” 17 General Sir Arthur Power Palmer, the then CinC, could not see the value of creating officers with such limited and almost-to-the-point-of-nonexistent powers of command. The raison d’etre of every officer, he rightly pointed out, was to exercise command over troops. Although this seems liberal, Power Palmer followed it up with the reactionary sentiment that sepoys were excellent up to a point, and no further. Anglo-India would thus be courting disaster and imperiling its own existence by promoting Indians to the top rungs of command. He therefore advocated that the highest commissioned rank Indians could aspire to be that of captain. The CinC then set out his own detailed scheme as to how to employ princely higher officers. He proposed the establishment of a cavalry corps in which Indian captains would command squadrons and double-companies, and Indian lieutenants would be in command of troops and companies. Under his scheme, Indian noblemen would not be directly commissioned. Rather, in order to attain these ranks, Indian princes and gentlemen would be required to have first attended and passed out of any of the Chiefs’ Colleges, and then pass examinations in drill and interior economy. He also advocated that, during their probationary year, the most promising of the Indian subalterns should serve as aides-de-camp to general officers commanding first-class districts. Mindful, as well, of the

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claims of the Indian Officer class, he advocated forming a few regiments organized identically to those officered by the Indian nobility, but officered entirely by men who had risen through the Indian Officer ranks. This would prove an excellent incentive to the more ambitious Indian Officers. 18 General Sir Edwin Collen, the Military Member, was guardedly optimistic about the ICC. He seemed, however, to think the ultimate logical conclusion of the scheme would be Indians commanding Britons. “Is it not the case,” he asked, “that the European is in the East the leader of men, and must remain so if the Empire is to be preserved?” He also doubted the Chiefs’ Colleges ability to produce sufficient nominees for the Corps and maintained that, even if commissioned, Indian princes and noblemen would soon tire of the junior officer’s dull routine. For these reasons, he urged Curzon not to explicitly promise a definite military career to the Corps’ graduates, other than in the ISTs, and as ADCs. Collen also critiqued Power Palmer’s scheme, on the grounds that it was not only naïve but also downright dangerous to military efficiency to place men of the Indian Officer class in sole command of regiments. 19 Alarmed by the opposition to his proposal, Curzon now sought to clarify certain aspects of his plan before the discussion went any further. He emphatically rejected Power Palmer’s proposal as he thought it muddied the waters by discussing Indian officers. Curzon felt that the fundamental contradiction in it—that Indians should be given commissions, but that the highest rank they should be allowed to aspire to should be that of captain—would only lead to discontent, not only among the Indian nobility, but among the Indian Officer class as well. Moreover, the CinC’s scheme, if acted upon, would entail the creation of new Indian regiments. Not only would this upset the balance between British and Indian units in India, but it would also embarrass Calcutta, who had only recently informed London that no increase to the Indian element of the army was necessary. 20 Having thus dismissed Power Palmer’s scheme, Curzon directed that the discussion be limited to whether it was desirable to conciliate the military aspirations of the Indian princes and nobility by the plan he had outlined, and whether the military rank conferred upon cadets (who completed year three of the ICC course) should be granted Indian Army commissions or honorary commissions outside the jurisdiction of the Indian Army. 21 The rest of the Council-members took Curzon’s directions to heart. C.M. Rivaz, E.F.G. Law, and T.R. Raleigh thought Curzon’s ICC a good idea. Rivaz thought the plan was quite satisfactory as it stood. Raleigh doubted whether the princes would be satisfied with the limited commissions offered them upon graduation from the ICC, and advocated going further The only way to test whether Indian gentlemen, influenced by their public-school ideas of clean living and hard work, could hold their own with their English counterparts, Raleigh countered, was by granting them higher commissions

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of a substantive kind. He made it clear, however, that such an extension should proceed with the utmost caution, so as not to imperil the efficiency of the Indian Army. Law thought the ICC was a good way of encouraging princes as well as Indians of good family to participate in politics, in a manner suited to their rank in Indian society. But there had to be certain ground rules: that the ICC adhere to Sandhurst standards of discipline; and that care had to be shown in selecting the Corps’ commandant, who should, ideally, be a father figure to the young cadets, a gentleman, and a sportsman. 22 Sir W.J. Cunningham, the secretary of the Foreign Department, warmly welcomed the Viceroy’s scheme as one which held the promise of strengthening the “honourable relations” between British and princely India. However, he suggested that the Chiefs’ Colleges prerequisite for entry into the Corps be not too strictly adhered to, as he feared this would exclude too many deserving young princes and noblemen who had been educated perfectly well in other institutions. Cunningham recommended that the commissions granted to ICC graduates be something like that of a reserve officer, so that they could be called up in the event of war. That way, they would not be “bored” by the duties of regular officers. The truly military-minded could find IST posts. 23 Four senior officers of the Indian Political Service were asked to comment on the scheme. They generally approved of it. Colonel David Barr, the Political Resident at Hyderabad, wrote that while most Indian aristocrats deemed state employment infra dig—that is, beneath their dignity or social position—many chiefs had spoken to him of their desire for some sort of military employment in the Indian Government’s armed forces. The Corps would provide a perfect outlet for them. Viewing the matter in a clearly ornamental light, Colonel William Curzon-Wyllie, the Political Resident of the Rajputana Agency, felt that, since Rajputs were not particularly bookish, and “ . . . would find passing exams a trying task,” the Corps’ curriculum should concentrate on encouraging qualities they were known for and valued, such as horsemanship, military spirit, and honor. Colonel Robertson, the Political Resident at Mysore and Chief Commissioner of Coorg, agreed with Barr and Curzon-Wyllie that the Indian graduates of the ICC would be best suited for staff posts. They subscribed to the orthodox Anglo-Indian belief that few British officers in the Indian Army’s line units would consent to have an Indian higher officer within their midst. Robertson opined that mere “[b]ullying, or even perhaps rudeness, might be checked, but no authority could intervene effectively when the officers of a regiment are determined to have no real social intercourse with a person they consider undesirable . . . looking to the great differences which exist between the two races in the standards of behaviour . . . it is practically impossible that British and Indians can live together in close camaraderie which is so essentially typical of

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regimental life.” Colonel Hunter, the resident in Kathiawar, did not think, however, that the posting of Indians as higher officers to line regiments would pose much of a problem. Nonetheless, all four thought the scheme would result in an increase of enrollment in the Chiefs’ Colleges, which had been declining of late, because of the feeling among the Indian noblemen that there were no tangible career prospects for Indian aristocratic youth graduating from the Chiefs’ Colleges. 24 Having received all these opinions, Curzon took the unusual step of not bringing his scheme for discussion before the Council. 25 Though he stated that he did this to save time, he was most probably anxious lest any council discussion would lead to fundamental changes or outright rejection of his scheme. This was clearly a lesson he had learned from the fate of Chesney’s schemes. The Government of India’s Despatch 103, of July 19, 1900, detailed the scheme to the India Office. It naturally parroted Anglo-Indian assumptions: that granting Indians regular regimental commissions would create social difficulties arising out of messing together with British officers; and that only the tiniest proportion of the Indian nobility would be dedicated enough to withstand the rigors and the routine of regimental service. On the other hand, the ICC idea would appeal to Indian aristocrats because it would bring them into contact with general officers on whose staffs they would serve in all capacities. Their employment in this way would also have a beneficial effect on the Indian rank and file, “ . . . who could not fail to be encouraged by the sight and co-operation of leading and representative members of the aristocracy of their own country.” 26 Calcutta depicted the scheme as “ . . . a sort of Honorary Reserve . . . carrying . . . the obligations, not of ordinary regimental service, but of military employment in extra-regimental billets.” Besides the advantages listed above, it believed that the extra-regimental billets experiment would provide valuable data in the event of the reappearance of the question of intraregimental employment of Indians. To appeal to the economizing attitude of the India Office, the dispatch pointed out that the initial cost of the ICC scheme would not be great, and, if the experiment proved a success, its expense would be borne by Indian revenues. It also emphasized that, unlike Cooch Behar’s idea, Curzon’s scheme would not require any passage of legislation for it to be brought into being. 27 Calcutta’s dispatch ended with a plea to have the views of the Secretary of State on the ICC proposition as soon as possible. If the Secretary of State approved of it, the Government of India thought it imperative that the scheme be inaugurated that very December, so that Curzon, and presumably Lawrence as well, could “ . . . watch over the early stages of its translation into fact.” 28 This was dashed because the Secretary of State for India only officially replied almost a year later. Curzon’s plan did not get that smooth a ride in Whitehall. Hamilton himself was not unequivocally supportive. Though he liked the idea of the

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unattached commissions and the extra-regimental billets, he found it difficult to see what useful duties Indians with these commissions could perform on the general staff. Also, although he was in favor of associating the cadets with the Viceregal entourage, he echoed the opinions of all the Viceroy’s council-members that the Calcutta seasons were a bad idea, because of the myriad “temptations” and “distractions” of the capital, to which the cadets would inevitably succumb. Notwithstanding these caveats, Hamilton thought the way Curzon had worded the proposal advantageous from the tactical standpoint. “It would,” he wrote to Curzon, “give you a tolerably free hand to work the scheme in any direction you like.” 29 Prime Minister Lord Salisbury agreed with Hamilton on this point. Though he warned Hamilton that the setting up of an Imperial Cadet Corps would “ . . . not please Lord Roberts and his school,” he urged that Hamilton not modify the scheme just to appease them. In Salisbury’s opinion, “ . . . changing the plan to accord with the theorist . . . [would] . . . make it unworkable.” 30 But, curiously, opposition did not materialize from Horse Guards. Indeed, given his earlier vociferous opposition to any scheme for commissioning Indians, Roberts seemed almost conciliatory. It was the fact that the ICC scheme was not intended to give Indians regular commissions with substantive powers of command in line regiments that convinced him that no harm could come of the experiment. 31 At the India Council, General Sir John Gordon and Sir Charles Crosthwaite 32 spearheaded the opposition to the ICC scheme. Gordon conventionally felt that the ICC would deleteriously affect the Indian Army’s popularity as a viable career option for the martial races. A scheme designed solely for the benefit of Indian princes and nobility would alienate the Indian Officers who were the backbone of the Indian Army. The best of the Indian Officers would feel slighted at being passed over by the sons of Indian princes and noblemen, who, Gordon felt, were both unfit for, and disinclined to join, the Indian military. 33 Crosthwaite was even more vehement, blasting both the content and intent of the scheme and the way the matter was being handled in Calcutta and London. He saw the ICC as a military scheme, and found it rather odd that the Government of India and the India Office had consistently ignored the military aspects of the proposal, and had not bothered to consult the best military authorities in India. This assertion is somewhat perplexing, because General Sir Arthur Power Palmer, the then CinC India, was consulted about the scheme, about which he gave his opinion in a memo dated June 12, 1900. We must therefore assume either that Crosthwaite did not hold Power Palmer in high regard as a military authority, or that more military authorities were not consulted. A third, and entirely possible, explanation, is that Crosthwaite was chastising Curzon for not consulting any Indian military authority when he was preparing the proposal. And why was it, he asked, that although Curzon raised the question in an Army Department

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dispatch, it was dealt with in London by the India Office’s Political Committee? Even the Political Committee admitted the folly of this. 34 Crosthwaite contended that it was not possible to commission officers ineligible for regimental employment, as Curzon was proposing to do. He asserted that their position would be a false one, and their duties merely nominal, and therefore, meaningless. 35 “You cannot say to [Indians],” he intoned direly, “You want a military career? We wish to justify your ambition. Here are commissions signed by His Majesty. Take them and ride about after our Generals and attend Viceregal functions.” The scheme would not be seen as a demonstration of British confidence in the Indian nobility; rather, argued Crosthwaite, it would “ . . . declare in the most emphatic way possible the disbelief of the British Government in their [the nobility’s] aptitude for real military work.” 36 Despite the entirely valid comments of Power Palmer and Crosthwaite, Hamilton and Curzon secured London’s approval for the Corps. Political India also eagerly supported the Corps. But whereas Curzon saw it as a final solution to a vexing problem, Congress, echoing Chesney’s approach, saw it merely “ . . . as the first instalment of a policy which will culminate in the establishment of military colleges’” where Indians, “may be educated and trained for a military career as commissioned . . . officers in the Indian Army.” 37 Even more effusive was a leading Indian English-language daily: Future historians will regard this beneficent departure in the time-honored policy of the British Government in India as the soundest stroke of political wisdom. It will do more than anything else that we can think of, to stimulate the gratitude and cement the loyalty of the Princely houses of India. 38

Though Curzon had proposed that the Corps be commanded by a prominent Indian nobleman, and recommended that that Indian be H.H. Maharaja Sir Pertab Singh of Idar, 39 when the Corps came into being, Sir Pertab was only the Honorary Commandant. 40 The staff of the ICC consisted of the Commandant, the Adjutant, who were both British officers, and the Assistant Adjutant and Jemadar, who were both Indian. Special care was taken in appointing the commandant, for “[t]the qualifications necessary [were] many.” The man who headed the Corps was, ideally, a polished gentleman, a good sportsman and athlete, and knowledgeable in military subjects. It was preferable that he had taken, and passed, the course at the British Staff College, Camberley. Having worked in the Princely States, he had to be broadly sympathetic to princely aspirations. Finally, because the ICC’s Commandant was tasked with “develop[ing] character in the cadets and lead[ing] them both at work and at games,” he had to be “endowed with more than [an] ordinary share of patience and sympathy.” 41

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The main brunt of instruction fell on the two British officers, Major William A Watson and Captain Donald Cameron, both of whom were seconded from the 1st Lancers, Central India Horse, and a “Native” Adjutant, Woordi-Major Dip Singh. They were assisted by a senior British NCO who handled equitation and drill, and Professor Paonaskar, the Maharaja of Kishengarh’s private tutor. In late 1904, to increase the Corps’ efficiency, Major Watson, the Corps’ first Commandant, proposed that the staffing arrangements be changed by replacing the posts of Native Adjutant and Jemadar with a single post—that of Quartermaster—to be filled by an Indian, preferably an ex-cadet. In fact, such an ex-cadet, Kunwar Praatab Singh of Cama, was slated to fill the new post. However, the reform was shelved because no suitable alternate employment could be found for Dip Singh. 42 The academic year at the Corps consisted of two terms: a cold-weather term, from the beginning of November to the end of March, at Meerut Cantonment; and a hot-weather term, from the end of May to the end of August, at Dehra Dun. At Meerut, cadets were housed in well-appointed tents, 43 whereas accommodation was more formal at Dehra Dun—2 lines, consisting of 12 rooms each, with attached bathrooms—uncommon even in Britain at the time. A separate line housed the ICC staff, the Muslim and Hindu messes, classrooms, a club-room with a billiard table, and a library. The Dehra Dun lines for the Corps cost almost Rs. two lakhs to construct. 44 Teaching at the Corps was a mixture of rigor and laxity. Book-learning was not emphasized. Only 3 hours per day were devoted to classroom instruction, which was 30 minutes less than stipulated in the draft rules. Most of the classroom time during the first year was devoted to English language instruction and arithmetic. Among the books read were Lord Roberts’s Forty-One Years in India, R.L. Stevenson’s Treasure Island, and J.R. Green’s A Short History of the English People. 45 The first was a celebration of the Raj and its Indian Army in memoir form, which impressed upon the reader the innate superiority of Britain and the benevolence of its rule over India. Its significance for the Corps lay in the fact that it was a military memoir that would inculcate British military values and loyalty toward the British Crown among the cadets. The second was a “boys-own” adventure, inspiring masculine values. The Green history was typical of the Whig tradition of the day, and was designed to introduce Imperial Cadets to the “glory” of Britain’s “progress” from monarchical tyranny to constitutional rule. In introducing this concept to aristocratic Indian princes and gentlemen, Corps officials were undoubtedly stressing British superiority. But here, a curious question arises, because integral to British superiority were the concepts of meritocracy and equality of opportunity. Given the rather limited nature of the HMNILF commission, was the Corps’ teaching staff inadvertently sowing the seeds of discontent among the cadets? The cadets were also given written assignments. One of these was to write short essays on various topics thought

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suitable for Indian princes and gentlemen, such as their family history. 46 In asking them to write about their aristocratic and noble families, Watson and Cameron were clearly trying to reinforce the cadets’ pride in their status as heirs to a traditional and aristocratic India that was intimately connected to Anglo-Indian power. Later, the book A Vision of India by the conservative journalist, essayist and historian Sir Sidney Low was bought to instruct the cadets. 47 An account of the tour of the Prince of Wales—later King George V—of India in 1905, it was not a mere chronicle of the tour. Rather, Low wanted “ . . . to give some general idea of the conditions of life and society prevailing in India.” The book was wide-ranging—even mentioning the ICC—and popular, going through three editions by 1910, and was enthusiastically endorsed by the eminent officials John Morley, the then India Secretary, Curzon, Crosthwaite, and Colonel Robertson. 48 The ninth chapter, and the most important for our purposes, was the one used to instruct the cadets. Titled “His Highness, the Maharajah,” it dealt with the general character of the Indian princes, and their relationship with the British paramount power. Of particular significance was the contrast, devised by the “Indian Foreign Office [sic] and the Political Department,” between the good, or “virtuous” Maharaja, and the bad, or “unvirtuous” Maharaja. 49 “The unvirtuous Maharaja” was an oriental despot, who found moderation difficult. Low itemized his failings. He treated his state as his own private property, and spent its revenues on personal gratification. He filled his palace, to which he added “new wings . . . of monumental hideousness,” with European monstrosities, such as “horrible glass lustre chandeliers, crystal thrones, and gilded Lord Mayor’s carriages . . . for which he was charged blood-curdling prices.” He also wastefully and lavishly spent lakhs of rupees on diamonds and emeralds for his favorite wife or dancing girl, and, if he was especially irresponsible, kept “elephants with silver howdahs . . . [and] . . . whole menageries of animals, wild and tame.” Because of his love for extravagance and indolence, the unvirtuous maharaja was reactionary, objecting strenuously to progressive (read British) reforms. His reasoning being that “schools, model prisons, hospitals, irrigation works, and famine relief would make a considerable hole in his private Civil List,” the allowance the state bestowed upon royalty. Also, fearing that reforms would bring with them more Englishmen and English influences into his dominions, and perhaps even a new desire among the maharaja’s subjects for good governance, the unvirtuous maharaja “ . . . entrenched himself behind Hindu or Mussulman orthodoxy, and protested as vehemently as he dared against innovations.” Low cautioned that, eventually, the Foreign Department would have to take some punitive action against these unvirtuous princes, either by putting the state under the trusteeship of a political agent until such time as the ruler exhibited good behavior, or by the outright deposition and pensioning off of the offending prince, and his re-

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placement by a suitable—read pliable to Anglo-Indian interests—male relation. 50 Clearly, Low’s thoughts on the unvirtuous maharaja had a didactic purpose in the ICC context, warning the cadets, especially those who were heirs to gadis, of the dire consequences of misbehavior. In contrast, the enlightened prince “enjoyed a fine position.” He did not have to worry about diplomacy, military preparedness and expenditure, and invasion, all of which were taken care of by the Raj. He only had to “to manage his finances with some . . . economy and avoid the grosser forms of personal extravagance to have plenty of spending money.” He cared for his peoples’ moral and material welfare, and even instituted an executive and legislative council, along the lines of the imperial one at Calcutta, even employing “ . . . a Bengali babu or two as secretary or legal member.” 51 Chapter 11 of the book, dealing with the Indian Army, was also pedagogically germane to the Corps. In keeping with “Anglo-Indian militarism,” Low referred to the Army as “ . . . the mainstay and sheet-anchor of our position in India.” 52 Low summarized the main tenets of the Anglo-Indian Army, such as the martial races ideology and the reliance on men from the Punjab and northwestern India. 53 Unsurprisingly, he did not mention the demand for Indianizing the Army’s officer corps. Because it was to cater to Indian aristocrats, it was deemed necessary for the Corps to have a large number of servants and followers. This was, however, potentially dangerous, as it was taken as a given by the Anglo-Indian military establishment that it was “through servants that evil communications . . . [were] . . . made.” The most famous instance of this in Anglo-Indian lore was the story of a low-caste bhisti (water-carrier), who, upon having his offer of a Lotah (cup) of water refused on a sweltering day by a sepoy, retorted that the sepoy and his ilk would be losing their caste soon, through the use of a new cartridge for their small arms. This reputedly happened right before the 1857 Uprising and, by attacking the cultural sensibilities of sepoys, was one of its significant causes. It was therefore imperative that the menials attached to the Corps be “carefully and strictly controlled and disciplined.” Therefore, a youngish Indian Officer was appointed as provostmarshal to keep close watch on the ICC’s servants. 54 Teaching at the Corps was ad hoc. Outdoor subjects in the first year included drill and equitation. In the second and third years, military subjects, such as cavalry training, topography, administration and organization, and tactics were introduced. The texts used to teach Imperial Cadets military subjects were: Cavalry Training, Combined Training, The Manual of Military Engineering, The Manual of Field Sketching, Longman’s Geography, Coleman’s Arithmetic, and The Field Service Pocket Book. 55 We know that, as befitting cavalry officers, cadets were taught the proper care of horses, because a work titled The Horse: Its Treatment in Health and Disease, was bought for the Corps. 56

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Unfortunately, it is well-nigh impossible to uncover what portions of these books the Corps’ instructors taught to cadets. Yet some indications can be gleaned from reverse engineering a final commissioning examination, based on the reasoning that, if a certain topic appeared as an examination question, it had to have been taught to the cadets. Fortunately, three ICC commissioning examinations—for the years 1905, 1913 and 1914—are available. The 1905 examination included papers on tactics, military engineering and topography. There was also a practical examination. The military engineering course covered such elements as the strengthening of positions preparatory to developing an offensive action; the type and amount of cover needed against fire from rifles, or field artillery, or field howitzers; the method of constructing a roadway capable of bearing infantry across a bridge; and arranging the water supply for an encampment consisting of an infantry battalion and a cavalry regiment from a nearby village pond and two village wells. In field service regulations, cadets were instructed in the differing characteristics of cavalry, mounted infantry, and cyclists; the purpose of an operational order and its elements; halts during marching, and their rules; outposts and their functions; the content of orders or instructions to commanders of outpost companies/squadrons; the aim of the artillery attached to an attacking force, and the method to attain it; the forward movement of an advance guard during day and night and the differences therein; and standing patrols. In map-reading and reconnaissance, Imperial Cadets were taught mapmaking to scale, determining directions using timepieces, the proper outfitting of reconnaissance missions, and the calculation of the relative elevations of features. As regards cavalry training, cadets were taught basic terms, such as “frontage,” “wheel,” “line of squadron,” “column,” “mass” and “echelon”; commands for horses—called “aids”; the importance of good drill; the proper method for a patrol to reconnoiter a village; how a commander of such a patrol should be instructed; and the method to combine firepower and cavalry in a successful attack. In organization, cadets learned about the structure of the Indian Army and the Anglo-Indian military system. 57 By 1913, an additional paper, on military law, had been introduced. This is a most interesting development, for military law, which deals with matters of discipline and command was, and still is, the cornerstone of a military officer’s training. In the British experience, military law originated out of the Mutiny Act first promulgated in 1689, and eventually became a “‘Christmas tree’ upon which Parliament hung a multitude of regulations concerning the army.” The 1913 military law paper for Imperial Cadets consisted mainly of definitions such as mutiny and disobedience, desertion and absence without leave, liability under courts-martial, “hearsay” evidence and its admissibility, and mess violations. In the following year’s examination, the military law paper was expanded. It now consisted of seven fairly detailed questions.

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Candidates were asked to define the different types of law—military, statute, common, and martial—as well as the procedures regarding courts-martial. 58 It is unclear precisely when the military law paper was included. It was not part of Watson’s initial plan for third-year training, perhaps because it was felt to be unnecessary, as Imperial Cadets would never be placed in command situations, except perhaps in the ISTs. Because of military law’s inclusion in later exams, we can surmise that later commandants wished to gradually professionalize the ICC. Other evidence points in this direction. There was a move in early 1913 to include material on the organization of the ISTs, the Militia, and the Military Police on the third year syllabus, as the Army’s General Staff Branch proposed to include questions on these in the organization paper of the ICC’s commissioning exam. This was perhaps an indication that Anglo-Indian military authorities now wanted to offer Imperial Cadets real posts with real responsibilities, but not in the regular Army. However problems emerged in procuring appropriate textbooks on these subjects. Regarding the military police and the ISTs, the Foreign Department contacted the Home Department and the Military Department. The Home Department recommended parts of the Bengal, Burma, and Assam police manuals, and the Military Department replied that a document titled Notes on the Mobilization of the ISTs contained the required information—although it cautioned that it might not be advisable to make the document available. The reason for this was not made explicit, but one suspects that it was because it was a secret document, and, as such, off-limits to the general public, and especially Indians, no matter how exalted their status. In the end, the General Staff Branch dropped the proposal. 59 Attempts were also made to introduce promising cadets to professional military life. During the 1912–13 Christmas vacation, cadets Rana Jodha Jang, Savai Singh and Daji Raj attended the cavalry divisional maneuvers at Campbellpur. Here, Jang was attached to the Brigadier-General’s staff, while the other two cadets were attached to the 5th Cavalry. The cadets were not mere spectators, and actually experienced active military life, such as “doing duty” with troops, and bivouacking in the open air for two nights. The opportunity was no doubt facilitated by the fact that Major R.L. Ricketts, the ICC’s commandant since 1912, was on the directing staff of the maneuvers. 60 While it has proved impossible for the present author to compare the available ICC examinations with the Sandhurst final examinations, the next best thing has been done. Through the kind offices of a friend of the author who, besides being an authority on the cavalry of the old Indian Army, is a retired Indian Army officer, and several Indian Army officers currently serving as instructors, who prefer to remain anonymous, have offered their collective evaluation of the 1913 ICC final examination. These officers were impressed by the general standard of the question papers, which covered the

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entire gamut of subjects ranging from military engineering, map reading, military law, organization, and field service regulations. The papers dealt with these topics “more than adequately,” and the cadet who proved capable of properly answering the question would have been assessed as good officer material. To clear Paper 4, candidates would have had to have had a “decent knowledge of how to function in a . . . cavalry unit.” The requirements of the practical examinations should have given the examiners a good indication of the cadets’ character and their behavior in the field. These officers collectively felt that that the standard of papers in the 1913 ICC commissioning examination was similar to that of promotion examinations of the present-day Indian Army, with suitable modifications for equipment and tactics. 61 Despite this, one must remember a crucial caveat—the real rigor of an examination, as every teacher worth his or her salt knows, depends upon the stringency with which the answer-papers are graded. Until 1904, no plans were made for the syllabus to be taught to cadets who qualified for the third year. Watson proposed that these cadets be given a garrison class, which was the method by which Indian Army officers were taught higher command skills. Even so, plans were already underway to abolish it, and open a proper Indian staff college at Quetta, similar to the British Army’s staff college at Camberley. It was decided not to send cadets selected for the third-year course to take the course at Quetta, because the military education the cadets had received at the ICC was too rudimentary for them to be able to cope with the standard at Quetta. The result would be their failure, their frustration, and a loss of prestige for the Foreign Department. Imperial Cadets who qualified for the third year would instead undergo a syllabus based upon a special three-month course of military subjects that had been instituted for young officers, who had been gazetted without prior military knowledge. That the cadets would be taught this three-month course over the period of a year gives some indication of the Corps’ lack of academic rigor, and the level of its cadets. 62 Throughout the ICC experience, there was a heavy emphasis on sport— especially team sports, like polo, which bred horsemanship as well as team spirit and leadership, and pig-sticking, which presumably added an unpredictable element, thought to be akin to the “fog of war.” As Maharaja Sir Pertab Singh told the Prince of Wales (the future Edward VIII and Duke of Windsor) with whom he went pig-sticking in 1921, “I know you are the Prince of Wales, You know you are the Prince of Wales, but the pig does not know you are the Prince of Wales.” 63 Indeed, along with the essay on their family history, Amar Singh 64 and his batch mates at the Corps were asked to write an essay on their favorite sport. With a single exception, we know that they wrote on team sports. Amar himself wrote about polo, and was pleased that his essay on this subject was singled out for praise. To “ . . . the English

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public school understanding that manly sports, like cold baths and Latin, develop[ed] character.” 65 Sporting ability was a very important criterion in the initial selection of Imperial Cadets as well. For instance, a British official recommending two sons of “Oudh Taluqdars” for the Corps, commented that one had been the captain of the riding school, and the hockey and tennis teams, and was an “active horseman and all-round athlete,” while the other had captained his school’s riding, football, field-hockey, and cricket teams. The official’s report contained no information on the candidates’ academic achievements. Despite the fact that these two boys were suitable for the Corps in every way, they were rejected, because, being from British India, they lacked the “cachet” of the Rajput. 66 Anglo-Indian officials also thought there was a distinct hierarchy within Rajputs themselves. For example, Sir Louis Dane, 67 the Foreign Secretary, complained in 1904 that too many candidates for the ICC came from the ranks of the “debased” Kathiawari Rajput princes, who, being unmartial compared to the Rajasthani Rajputs, would be of no use if it were intended to commission them. 68 Other aspects of the Corps, however, were not so professional. Separate messes, on communal lines, were instituted. While catering to “Indian sensibilities” surrounding commensality, this inevitably militated against the camaraderie that is the cornerstone of any professional officer corps. Cadets were also allowed to bring their personal servants—and sometimes, their private tutors—to the Corps. It is not surprising then that the Raja of Manipur, a very “traditional” prince, was allowed to join the Corps in 1905 accompanied by a Hindu idol and four priests. 69 The Cadets’ dress and ceremonial uniform was very extravagant. Designed by Curzon himself, it was snow white, with sky-blue and gold facings and was topped by a sky-blue Sapha (Rajput-style turban). 70 Made of the finest materials, the uniform cost Rs. 500—a princely sum then. The garb’s expensive opulence was no doubt intended to appeal to extravagant tastes and the social exclusivity of Indian princes and aristocrats. This was part of a cadet’s initial expenditure, which came to Rs. 1437, and included such things as a mess suit; 2 new day suits; pugrees (a light turban); walking and evening shoes (1 pair of each); socks (12 pairs); pocket handkerchiefs (24); one pony with saddle, bridle, and stable gear; school textbooks; writing materials; one field service tent; and camp furniture. In addition to this, cadets also had recurring monthly expenditures. These included: messing; general fund; upkeep of 1 pony; wages of 2 servants; washing; lighting; cleaning and upkeep of boots and accoutrements; pocket money; and maintenance of ordinary clothing. These monthly costs amounted to Rs. 150 for Hindu cadets. For Muslim cadets, the cost was Rs. 50 higher, due to the higher cost of their mess and servants. 71 Professor Veena Oldenburg provided the present author with a plausible explanation of the differing messing costs:

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Muslims eat more meat and therefore their messing bills would be higher. Hindus—especially in situations such as the army were mainly vegetarians— afraid that beef (far cheaper than goat) would be secreted into the meat dishes served in their mess. This suspicion was not unwarranted given the most memorable cause of the mutiny was biting the lard-greased bullets. The cooks would be Muslims too, and they would also eat meat and therefore cost more—since messing was a perquisite of service. Hindu cooks, chiefly Brahmins, (because Hindus of all castes could eat from their kitchens) were vegetarians and therefore, cheaper as servants. As someone who was once connected with a hotel establishment that hired both types of cooks the complaints about the expenses of Muslim servants was often brought up. I think that this is what that ambiguous statement about the “higher cost of messing and servants” means. 72

Early in the Corps’ existence, there was some discussion of the poorer cadets receiving some sort of allowance from the Sarkar. Watson raised this in connection with a poor cadet whose princely durbar could not afford the Rs. 150 monthly allowance. Curzon quashed moves in that direction, believing it to be essential for the Corps not to be “eleemosynary.” Wrote the Viceroy, “I would sooner lose poor boys than start all-round remuneration. If the crack corps of the Indian Princes and noblemen cannot be got together or sustained without paying the young men to join, I would drop it altogether.” 73 When Curzon organized, at great expense, a Durbar at Delhi to celebrate the coronation of King Edward VII, the Imperial Cadets were naturally in attendance. Here a total of 22 cadets participated, riding black Australian chargers, as the Viceroy’s escort. According to modern commentators, the Corps’ participation was essential to the Raj’s order, which saw Indian aristocrats as the essential mediators between the Indian peasantry and the KingEmperor. 74 Frivolous considerations sometimes impinged on the ICC’s incipient professionalism. For instance, in March 1906, Maharani Suniti Devi of Cooch Behar, who was journeying to England for health reasons, requested that her second son Jitendra, then an Imperial Cadet, be granted leave so that he could travel there with her. Once he had seen her there safely, he was to return to duty back in India. The Viceroy, Lord Minto, acquiesced. 75 Clearly, it helped that Suniti Devi’s husband was one of the Corps’ staunchest champions. Some Durbars disallowed their youths from attending the Corps for feeble reasons. When the Corps was first being organized, Obeidulla Khan, the second son of the Begum of Bhopal was eager to join, but the Begum was against it. Her fear was that Obeidulla, being fat, would fall off his horse and badly hurt himself. Despite the best efforts of the political officer, who told the Begum that being periodically unhorsed was part and parcel of every cavalry officer’s life, and that the Bhopal Nawabi might not even have been

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created had the Begum’s ancestors been so skittish about mounting a horse, she remained unconvinced, and Obeidulla was kept out of the Corps. 76 He would later gratify his martial appetite by becoming commander of the Bhopal IST contingent. 77 The case of Mohammed Kuli Khan, the Nawabzada (heir to a Nawabi) of Cambay, is instructive of how pragmatic political pressures affected the ICC. Joining the ICC in 1903, Mohammed Kuli completed the two-year course successfully, scoring well in all the half-yearly and yearly examinations at the Corps, with the exception of the last one, which—due to a serious horseriding accident which laid him up for over two months and prevented him from effectively studying—he failed. When he asked to enroll in the third years’ course, he was refused. Watson, the commandant at the time, assessed him as a “a colourless individual, indifferent at work and useless at play, and will not be worth keeping for more than two years.” 78 The matter resurfaced in 1906, because the boy’s father, the Nawab of Cambay, offered to contribute an infantry unit to the ISTs. It therefore seemed desirable to some officials to let the Nawabzada do the third year at the Corps, on the understanding that he would help organize this unit, and possibly become its commandant. Officials also raised the fear that, if Mohammed Kuli was rejected, the Bombay Government, which was supporting his application, would lose interest in the Corps altogether, something the ICC could ill-afford, as detailed in the following section. The Corps’ commandant, however, was adamant; letting the Nawabzada do the third-year course would deleteriously affect the standards of the Corps, and devalue the commission it conferred. Besides, said he, it was not at all likely that Mohammed Kuli would be able to pass the third-year course, which would only add to his sense of frustration. Continuing, Cameron thought that the youth could gain all the military knowledge he needed by being attached to a local cavalry regiment. Such was the force of Cameron’s objection that the Bombay government withdrew the proposal. 79 Most probably because of this, Cambay did not get an IST unit. 80 Scandal also touched the Corps. Cadet Amanat Ullah of Tonk ran afoul of the Corps by running up debts. Considered a promising cadet, in 1904, he borrowed Rs. 1000 from the Corps’ banker without first obtaining Watson’s permission. Further investigation revealed that he was Rs. 18,500 in debt, and that he had pawned Rs. 1350 worth of jewelry for Rs. 500. Watson thought that, although Amanat Ullah’s behavior was “underhanded and dishonorable,” he nevertheless was a good cadet whom it would be a pity to lose. Nevertheless, Curzon was firm, decreeing that, since the cadet had told a lie and had tried deliberately to deceive the Corps’ Commandant, there was no other choice but to expel him, at the end of term, thus barring him from taking the qualifying examination. To prevent this sort of embarrassment from happening again, the Foreign Department undertook certain measures.

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Firstly, the Corps’ standing orders were amended to state that if a cadet did not pay his debts within a month, he was liable to instant dismissal by the Viceroy. Second, a circular was sent to local traders in Dehra Dun and Meerut, and leading tailors of India, informing them of this rule, and asking them to report any debts incurred by cadets direct to the Corps Commandant. Finally, the Foreign Department’s officials in the principalities of the cadets were instructed to monitor the spending of the cadets during their vacations from the Corps. 81 This seems to have worked, for there were no further cases of extravagant spending. If a cadet happened to be a ruling prince instead of a mere Rajput nobleman, the rules suddenly were pliable, for obvious political reasons. The Maharaja of Jodhpur, was expelled from the Corps in 1902 for homosexuality, or, in the quaint terminology of the day, “engaging in unnatural acts.” The Maharaja’s predilection was already known to the British resident at Jodhpur, who decided to recommend him for the ICC anyway, in the hopes that a stint there would “reform” him. This did not happen, and the Maharaja tried to induce some of his fellow cadets to commit homosexual acts. Indeed, his behavior became so “flagrant” that his ruling powers were taken away. By mid-1908, he had, however, reformed himself to such an extent that, not only had he reclaimed his ruling powers, but Calcutta also decided to allow him a privilege reserved only for cadets who retired from the Corps in good standing—the right to wear the ICC dress uniform. It was felt that this would please the important Rathore clan, of which the Maharaja was a member. 82 Later in the Corps’ life, standards became relaxed. The case of Sheikh Ghulam Jilani of Wai, Mahabaleshwar, is instructive. Jilani had charisma. He moved confidently with English people, and his ease of conversation led people to assume that he was older than he actually was. When not yet eighteen, Jilani had already spent considerable time with the Agha Khan’s “racing set” at Mahabaleshwar, Panch Gani and Poona. In fact, it was because of these traits, and also because he was in line to be head boy the following year, that the acting principal of the Chiefs’ College at which Jilani was enrolled hesitated to recommend him for the Corps. Disregarding this warning, Foreign Department officials disregarded this warning and nominated Jilani, who joined the Corps in June 1907. Here, he soon became “best mates” with cadet Ahmed Khan, the younger brother of the Nawab of Sachin. Jilani was later identified as the “evil genius” behind the bad behavior the two exhibited. Both got into debt with moneylenders at Dehra Dun, which was deemed especially scandalous because Ahmed Khan was a minor, and there were reports that he was being blackmailed by moneylenders. Moreover, it was reported that Jilani had two or three “mistresses.” One of these was Fatima, an actress, whom Jilani entertained at the expensive Taj Mahal hotel in Bombay. The Sachin Durbar strongly suspected Ahmed Khan of similar dalliances. These suspicions were confirmed when the lad came

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down with a dose of “the clap.” 83 Needless to say, both cadets were “retired” from the Corps. However, the case had repercussions. It was obvious to Foreign Department officials that discipline at the ICC needed tightening up, and they therefore demanded that Cameron report on supervisory arrangements there. Cameron reported that he had been aware of the two cadets’ misconduct for some time. In fact, during the Summer 1908 term, Captain R. O’B. Taylor, the ICC’s officiating commandant, discovered that the boys were drinking and “womanizing” together. Upon returning from England in October 1908, Cameron had a stern talk with the two, telling them that they were “skating on thin ice.” Cameron assured his superiors that the cadets had gotten the message, and no serious changes to discipline at the ICC were made. As Harcourt Butler later remarked, “the Corps suffers because numbers have to be kept up.” 84 The implication here being that unsuitable youths were admitted. Quite a few ruling chiefs attended the ICC, though very few qualified for a commission. The Raja of Adalkot, in 1914, was one of these few, scoring 77% in the commissioning exam. He did not, however, take up an extraregimental billet in the Indian Army. 85 This was in line with official expectations. Four ruling princes—the Maharajas of Kishengarh, Jodhpur, and Rutlam, and the Nawab of Jaora—joined in the inaugural year, and in 1907, princely heirs—from Manipur, Sachin, Manwadar, and Rajkot—succeeded to their gadis while members of the Corps. 86 In 1913, Hari Singh, the future Maharaja of Kashmir, whose dithering was one of the causes of the Kashmir problem which plagues the region to this day, joined the ICC. 87 The Corps was not cheap. Between 1901 and 1908, its budget totalled Rs. 4,57,835. Expenditure on the ICC averaged out at Rs, 65,405 per annum. 88 In analyzing the ICC’s origins and assessing its pedagogy, which is germane to the forgotten debate, we have taken a brief break from it. The next chapter will explore the controversies the Corps generated, as its shortcomings were exposed. Curzon’s initiative did not put an end to the forgotten debate at all. NOTES 1. Lord Curzon’s Memorandum of 4 Jun. 1900, Enclosure to GOI Confidential Despatch No. 103 of 1900, 19 Jul. 1900, (hereafter: Lord Curzon’s Memo . . . ), para. 32, in BL(APAC): L/MIL/17/5/1750: Report of a Special Committee appointed by the Secretary of State for India to advise on the Question raised by the Proposals of the Government of India’s Letter of 16 June 1910, as to the Employment of Cadets who have qualified in the Imperial Cadet Corps for Commissions in the Indian Army, 1911, with appendices. 2. Demi-Official Letter (hereafter DOL): Watson to Gabriel, 5 Feb. 1906, para. 1, in GOI FD Internal B, Aug. 1906, progs. 474–508, NAI. 3. Fuller information on the life of a cadet can be found in: Rudolphs with Kanota, Reversing the Gaze, part iv. 4. Hamilton to Curzon, 8 Aug. 1900, in Hamilton Papers, BL(APAC): MSS. Eur. C.126/2.

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5. Good biographies are: D. Gilmour, Curzon, (London: Alan Lane, 1993) and N. Goradia, Lord Curzon: The Last of the British Moguls, (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1993). They contain very little on the ICC. B. Ramusack’s The Indian Princes and their States, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004) completely ignores the ICC. No monograph devoted solely to the ICC presently exists. For information on it which complements this chapter see: M.I. Butt, “Lord Curzon and the Indian States, 1899–1905” (unpub. PhD thesis: University of London, 1963); S. H. and L.I Rudolph, with M.S Kanota, Reversing the Gaze; D.C. Ellinwood, Between Two Worlds: A Rajput Officer in the Indian Army, 1905–21, Based on the Diary of Amar Singh of Jaipur, (Lanham, MD: Hamilton Books, 2005). 6. S. Anderson, Lawrence in Arabia: War, Deceit, Imperial Folly, and the Making of the Modern Middle East, (New York: Doubleday, 2013), p. 153. Curzon, though an aristocrat, was not rich. 7. E. Said, Orientalism: Western Conceptions of the Orient (London: Routledge, 1978), p. 5. Though it is uncertain whether Curzon read Tancred, he certainly shared Disraeli’s fascination with the East and its importance to British foreign and imperial policy. 8. For Curzon’s furious work ethic see: S. Gopal, British Policy in India, 1858–1914, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1965), p. 224. For Salisbury’s remark, see: L. Mosley, Curzon, the End of an Epoch, (London: Longmans, 1960), p. 60. Curzon’s books on Britain’s Asian policy were: Russia in Central Asia in 1889 and the Anglo-Russian Question, (London: Longmans, 1889); Persia and the Persian Question, (London: Longmans, 1892); and Problems in the Far East, (London: Longmans, 1894). None of these works dealt with India per se. Today, Curzon would be known as a “strategic analyst.” 9. Hamilton to Curzon, 19 Jan. 1900, Hamilton to Curzon, 6 Jun. 1900, in Hamilton Papers, BL(APAC): MSS. Eur. C.126/2. 10. Lawrence drafted the memorandum. See: Extract from note by Major-General Sir Stuart Beatson, Inspector-General Imperial Service Troops, 18 August 1906, para. 23, in GOI FD, Secret I, July 1911, progs. 1–11, NAI. Lawrence, Sir Walter Roper (1857-1940) friends with Curzon at Oxford; Indian Civil Servant; served in the Punjab (1879-1895); As Curzon’s Private Secretary (1899-1903), was instrumental in the formation of the ICC; in 1914-1915, was Kitchener’s monitor of Indian troops on the Western Front. See: Rudolphs with Kanota, Reversing the Gaze, passim.; and G.M. Jack, “The Indian Army on the Western Front,” p. 341. 11. He pointed to the policy of annually granting up to nine retiring subedar-majors and risaldar-majors the title “Bahadur,” which carried with it land grants or revenue assignments. This may have been a small re-creation of the Mansabdari system of Mughal times. In any case, this must have been a recent policy, because at the time Curzon composed his memo, only 22 senior Indian officers had been so awarded. 12. Lord Curzon’s Memo, 4 Jun. 1900, paras. 2, 27, 23–24, in GOI FD Secret I, Dec. 1900, progs. 1–24, NAI. 13. Ibid., paras. 34, 36, 39. 14. The Native Indian Land Forces Commission, in Note by J.B. Wood, 4 Aug. 1908, in GOI FD Secret I, Jan. 1909, progs. 26–28, NAI. 15. Note by Lord Minto, 28 Jul. 1908, in. GOI FD Secret I, Jan. 1909, progs. 26–28, NAI 16. For a good definition of “staff” and “general staff,” see: A. Corvisier (ed.), A Dictionary of Military History and the Art of War, English edition revised, expanded and edited by John Childs, (Oxford: Blackwell, 1994), pp. 298–305. 17. Note by Major-General P.J. Maitland, Secretary to the Military Department, GOI, 10 Sept. 1900, paras. 4–5; 3, in GOI FD Secret I, Dec. 1901, progs. 1–24, NAI. 18. Ibid., paras. 9–10; and Opinion of General Sir Arthur Power Palmer, 12 Jun. 1900, paras. 6; 8–10, in Curzon Papers, BL(APAC): MSS. Eur. F.111/253. 19. Opinion of General Sir E.H.H. Collen, 16 Jun. 1900, paras. 5; 2, 6–7 in Curzon Papers, BL(APAC): MSS. Eur. F.111/253. 20. Note by Lord Curzon, 23 Jun. 1900, paras. 1–3 in Curzon Papers, BL(APAC): MSS. Eur. F.111/253. 21. Ibid., para. 4.

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22. Opinion of T.R. Raleigh, 29 Jun. 1900, paras. 2–4 in Curzon Papers, BL(APAC): MSS. Eur. F.111/253.; Opinion of E.F.G. Law, 3 Jul. 1900, paras. 2–3 in BL(APAC):L/MIL/17/5/ 1750. 23. Foreign Department Office Note: Commissions for Native Officers, by Sir W. J. Cunningham, Secretary, FD, GoI, 8 Jun. 1900, paras. 2–3, 4–6, in BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19009. 24. Curzon to Hamilton, 18 Jul. 1900; and Letter, Very Confidential: Colonel Barr to Sir Walter Lawrence, 3 Jul. 1900, para. 3; Curzon-Wyllie to Lawrence, 4 Jul. 1900, paras. 1, 6–7; Lieutenant Colonel D. Robertson, Memo on Employment of Natives of High Rank in the Military Service of India, 8 Jul. 1900, para. 6; Lieutenant-Colonel Hunter to Lawrence, 13 Jul. 1900, in Curzon Papers, BL(APAC): MSS. Eur. F. 111/159 and /188. 25. Note by Lord Curzon, 4 Jul.1900, paras. 1-2, in Ibid.` 26. GOI Despatch No. 103 of 1900 (Mil. Dept.), 19 Jul. 1900, para. 6, in BL(APAC): L/ MIL/17/1750. 27. Ibid., paras. 6, 8. 28. Ibid., para. 9. 29. Hamilton to Curzon, 15 Aug.1900, in Hamilton Papers, BL(APAC): MSS. Eur. C. 126/ 2. 30. Salisbury to Hamilton, 31 Jan. 1901, in Ibid. 31. Note by Lord Roberts, 7 Mar. 1901, in Ibid. 32. Crosthwaite, Sir Charles H.T. (1835-1915). Irish-born Anglo-Indian civil servant; educated at Merchant Taylor’s School and St. John’s College, Oxford; entered the Indian Civil Service, 1857; acting Chief Commissioner, Burma, 1883; Chief Commissioner, Burma, 1887; “pacified” northern Burma, both administratively and in “law and order” terms; after a stint as Home Member of the Viceroy’s Executive Council (1890-1892), he became LieutenantGovernor of the North-Western Provinces and Oudh. His policies there were almost repressively conservative; India Council, 1895-1905; published The Pacification of Burma, (1912). See: K. Prior, “Crosthwaite, Sir Charles Haukes Todd (1835–1915),” Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004, http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/ 32646, accessed 15 Feb 2017] Thanks to Dr. Cat Wilson for this reference. 33. Note by General Sir John Gordon, 12 Oct. 1900, in Ibid. 34. Crosthwaite to Hamilton, 14 May 1901, in Ibid., and Dissenting Minute by Crosthwaite, 2 Jul. 1901, in BL(APAC): C/132:-Dissents by Members of the India Council, 1901-1935. 35. Crosthwaite to Hamilton, 14 May1901, in Hamilton Papers, BL(APAC): MSS. Eur. C. 126/2. 36. Crosthwaite to Hamilton, 1 May 1901, in ibid.; Dissenting Minute by Crosthwaite, 2 Jul. 1901, in BL(APAC): C/132. 37. Proceedings of the Seventeenth Session of the Indian National Congress, Calcutta, 1901, in Zaidi & Zaidi Vol. 4, p. 128-129. 38. The Bengali, 26 Jul. 1901, quoted in BL(APAC): L/R/5/27 (part II). 39. Idar, His Highness Maharajadhiraja Maharaja Shri Sir Pratap Singh of, (1845-1922): known to phonetically challenged Anglo-Indians as “Sir Pertab”; he was the archetypical Rajput prince, a younger son of the Jodhpur Maharaja, and had martial inclinations. He joined the Jodhpur Ressala (“native” irregular cavalry), and served in the 2nd Afghan war, 1878 (where he was mentioned in dispatches), the Tirah Campaign of 1898, (where he was wounded), and commanded the Jodhpur IS continent in the international force dispatched to China to put down the Boxer uprising in 1900. Later, in the 1914-18 war, he commanded Jaipur IS troops on the Western Front in 1914-15 and in the Palestine campaign in 1917-18. An example of what the writer Sidney Low termed a “virtuous prince,” he founded the Powlett Nobles school in 1886, which emphasized English literacy. Idar is pronounced “Idder.” 40. Lord Curzon’s Memo, 4 Jun. 1900, para. 36; and Draft Rules of the Imperial Cadet Corps, Rule V, VI, in Demi-Official Letter: W. Lawrence to H.S. Barnes, 14 Oct. 1901, in in GOI FD Secret I, Dec. 1900, progs. 1-24, NAI. 41. Note by Lt-Col A.H. McMahon, Secretary, GOI FD, Jan. 19 1912, in GoI FD Notes, Establishment B, Jul. 1912, progs. 80-104, NAI 42. Rudolphs with Kanota, Reversing the Gaze, pp. 208, 225; Note by C.F.F., July 22 1905; DOL: Cameron to Gabriel, Aug. 9 1905; Note by S.M. Fraser, Aug. 21 1905, in GOI FD Notes,

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Internal B, Sept. 1905, progs. 307-312; and Future of the Imperial Cadet Corps and of the cadets who obtained commissions through the Corps, para. 3, in GOI F&PD Secret-Deposit, Internal, June 1914, prog. 41, NAI. 43. These included: 2 double-poled tents for mess and reading room; 1 single-poled tent each for the commandant, adjutant and native commandant, 21 Swiss Cottage tents for cadets, 24 field service tents, 24 bathroom tents, 24 necessary tents, 72 servant pals, and 8 lascar pals for kitchen and mess servants. The total cost was estimated at Rs. 25,759. See: Note by Daly, 11 Oct. 1901, in GOI FD Internal A Jan. 1902, progs. 45-74, NAI. 44. Estimate by A.B. Gale, Sept. 20 1902, in GOI FD, Internal B, May 1904, progs. 82-95, NAI. 45. Notes on First Term, Amar Singh Diary, 27 April 1902. 46. Amar Singh Diary, 3 Jan., 11 Jan., and 8 May 1902. 47. Low was the London-born son of Hungarian refugees from the 1848 revolution. Achieving a “first” in History at Balliol, he began his journalistic career in the early 1880s with The St. James’ Gazette, eventually rising to be its editor from 1888 to 1897. Thereafter, he was the journal’s literary editor. See: D. Chapman-Huston, The Lost Historian: A Memoir of Sir Sidney Low, (London: John Murray. 1936). 48. DOL: Commandant ICC to Secretary, GOI FD, no. 101, July 21 1908, in GOI FD, Secret I, Jan. 1909, progs. 25–28, NAI; S. Low, A Vision of India, 3rd ed., (London: Smith Elder, 1910), pp. v; 130. vii. 49. A Vision of India, p. 117. For a modern view, see: F. Groenhout, “Loyal Feudatories or Depraved Despots?: the Deposition of Princes in the Central India Agency, c. 1880-1947,” in W. Ernst and B. Pati, eds., India`s Princely States: People, Princes and Colonialism, (Abingdon: Routledge, 2007).. 50. A Vision of India pp. 117-18; 120; 118-9. 51. Ibid., pp. 190, 195-6; 134-5. 52. Ibid., p. 151. A sheet anchor was, and still is, a large, strong anchor for use by ships and boats in emergency situations. In calling the Indian Army this, Low conformed to Anglo-Indian thinking, which saw it as the ultimate guarantor of the Raj. 53. Ibid., pp. 161-2. 54. Note: Maj. W.A. Watson to Secretary, GOI FD, 4 Nov. 1901, in GOI FD Internal A, Jan. 1902, progs. 45-74, NAI 55. DOL: Commandant ICC to Secretary, GOI FD, no. 101, 21 Jul. 1908 in GOI FD, Secret I, Jan. 1909, progs. 25-28, NAI. 56. Its author was J. Whortley Axe, a member of the Royal College of Veterinary Surgeons. See: DOL: Cameron to Under-Secretary, GOI FD, 20 Jan 1907, in GOI FD, Internal B, Apr. 1907, progs. 293-295, NAI. 57. 1905 Commissioning Examination, in GOI FD Secret I, Jan. 1905, progs. 36-37, NAI. 58. B. Paskins, “Military Law-Great Britain” in Corvisier and Childs, eds., A Dictionary of Military History, p. 441; Enclosure, DOL: Captain C.M. Wagstaff, RE, General Staff Branch to Chief of General Staff, Indian Army, Apr. 12 1913, in GOI F&PD, Internal A, Feb. 1914, progs. 37-52; Military Law Paper for Commissioning Examination for Imperial Cadets, April 1914, Enclo. 3 to Prog. 10, in GOI F & PD, Secret I, Oct. 1914, progs. 9-19, NAI. 59. See: DOL: Commandant ICC to GOI FD, No. 498, 3 Feb. 1913; Note by General Staff Branch—ICC, 6 Feb. 1913; Note by Chenevix-Trench, 13 Mar. 1913; DOL: Home Department to Commandant ICC; and notes by J.L. Ross, 16 Apr. 1913, Chenevix-Trench, 18 Apr. 1913, and T. Rose Price, 2 May 1913, in GOI F&PD, Internal B, June 1913, progs. 210-213, NAI. 60. General Report, Winter Term, 1912-1913, paras. 3-4, in GOI F&PD, Internal B, June 1913, progs 16-17, NAI. 61. ICC exam papers: an assessment of standards. Email correspondence from Ashok Nath, 20 Jul. 2014. 62. Report by Col. W. Capper, Director of Military Education (India), Feb. 19 1904, para. 2; Note by Capper, May 5 1904; and Major W.A. Watson to Sir Louis Dane, Jan. 22 1904, in GOI FD, Secret I, Jan. 1905, progs. 36-37, NAI. 63. B. Farwell, Armies of the Raj, pp. 230-231. For the place of sport in British imperial ideologies, see Patrick McDevitt, “May the Best Man Win”: Sport, Masculinity, and National-

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ism in Great Britain and the Empire, 1880-1935, (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2004), and H.E. Cowper, “British Education, Public and Private, in the British Empire,” (unpub. PhD: University of Edinburgh, 1979). 64. Kanota, Amar Singh, (1878-1942) Rathore Rajput nobleman, soldier and diarist; remarkable for being a Rajput who both rode and read; protégé of Sir Pratap Singh; educated at Powlett nobles school; saw action with Jaipur IS cavalry in Boxer Rebellion, 1900-1901;entered ICC, 1902; granted HMNILF commission 1905, ADC to General O’Moore Creagh at Mhow cantonment, 1906-1914; non-combatant duties in First World War, as ADC to GOC, 9th Sirhind Brigade, France and Belgium, 1914-15; as extra-regimental staff officer, Mesopotamia, 1915-1916; and as ADC to General Knight, OC Bombay brigade, 1916-1917; one of the first Indians granted the King’s Commission, 1917; seconded to 16th Cavalry, at Delhi Cantonment, under Major LaTouche and Colonel Mears; finally gets command of a squadron; witnesses Delhi riots; Brought on by Gandhi’s Rowlatt satyagraha, 1919; sees action in Third AngloAfghan war; experiences racial discrimination from British officers; resigns commission over unfavorable confidential report. See: Ellinwood, Between Two Worlds, chs. 4, 8-10, passim.; and Rudolphs with Kanota, Reversing the Gaze. 65. Amar Singh Diary, 6 Jan. 1902. Amar Singh had earlier penned an extended diary entry on polo in Jodhpur. This, along with other entries on the subject, is reproduced in Reversing the Gaze, pp. 104-110. 66. The Oudh (Awadh) Taluqdars were an important class of landowners that the British sought to placate in the post-1857 period. See: T.R. Metcalf, The Aftermath of Revolt: India, 1857-1870, 2nd ed., (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1990), pp. 49, 60, 68; and Bandyopadhyay, Plassey to Partition, pp. 176–9; DOL: J.W. Hose, Chief Secretary to the Government of the United Provinces, no. 221, 16 Feb. 1909, in GOI FD, Internal B, Aug. 1909, progs. 3–39, NAI. 67. Dane, Sir Louis William, (1856-1946), Anglo-Indian Civil Servant. Educ: Kingstown School, Ireland; entered Indian Civil Service in the Punjab, 1876; Private Secretary to the Lieutenant-Governor, 1879-82; on special duty for the revision of the land revenue settlement of the District of Gurdaspur, 1887-92, Dy. Commissioner and Settlement Officer 1892-96; Chief Secretary to the Punjab Government, 1896-1900; served as Resident Magistrate at Tralee, County Kerry, Ireland, 1900-1; recalled to India as Resident in Kashmir, 1901; was in charge of the British mission to Kabul, 1904-5; concluded the treaty with Amir Habibullah Khan, 1905; Secretary to the Government of India in the Foreign Department, 1902-8; Lieutenant-Governor of Punjab, 1908. See: C. Hayavadana Rao, The Indian Biographical Dictionary, (np, 1915) [https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/The_Indian_Biographical_Dictionary_(1915)/ Dane,_Sir_Louis_William (accessed 2 Mar. 2017). 68. Telegram: Dane to Watson, No. 438, 16 Mar. 1905, in GOI FD Internal B, Aug. 1905, progs. 274–354, NAI. 69. For instance, the Maharaja of Indore was allowed to bring a Mr. Clougston, his private tutor, to the Corps. See: Note by Chenevix-Trench, 1 Feb. 1913, in GOI F&PD Internal B, July 1913, progs. 206–37; Note by V. Gabriel, 2 May 1905, in GOI FD Internal B, Aug. 1905, progs. 274–354, NAI. 70. Curzon had a flair for dramatic uniforms. In 1894, he entered Kabul in “a dazzling uniform, complete with massive gold epaulets, a row of glittering medals and decorations, and a giant curved sword. The entire getup was a purely constructed fantasy, given meaning and power by the audacity of the man.” See: W. Davis, Into the Silence: The Great War, Mallory and the Conquest of Everest, (Toronto: Vintage Canada, 2012), p. 40. 71. Memo by Major W.A. Watson, n.d,. in W. Lawrence to Lord Curzon, 20 Feb. 1902, in GOI FD, Internal B, Oct. 1902, progs. 128–31, NAI. 72. Email communication from Professor Veena Oldenburg to author, through H-Asia listserve, 21 May 2012. 73. Memorandum on Points which HE the Viceroy discussed at Dehra Dun on 30th April 1902, with Major W.A. Watson, Commandant, Imperial Cadet Corps, in GOI FD Internal B, May 1902, progs. 305–13, NAI. 74. See: S. Wheeler, A History of the Delhi Coronation Durbar, held on the First of January 1903, to Celebrate the Coronation of His Majesty King Edward VII, Emperor of India (Lon-

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don: John Murray, 1904), pp. 42, 45–6, 49, 115, 127. The horses cost Rs. 1,100 each. See: Note by H. Daly, 18 Oct. 1901, in GOI FD Internal A Jan. 1902, progs. 45–74, NAI; Rudolphs with Kanota, Reversing the Gaze, p. 199. 75. Maharani Suniti Devi of Cooch Behar to Sir Louis Dane, 29 Mar. 1906; DOL: Wood to Dunlop Smith, 29 Mar. 1906; Note by J.B. Wood, 29 Mar. 1906, in GOI FD, Internal B, Aug. 1906, progs. 474–508, NAI. 76. DOL: Lt-Col. M.J. Meade to H.S. Barnes, 9 Oct. 1901, in GOI FD Secret I, Dec. 1901, progs. 1–24, NAI. 77. I thank Dr. Christophe Jaffrelot for this point. 78. Note by C.F.F., 12 May 1906, in GOI FD, Internal B, Aug. 1906, progs. 474–508, NAI. 79. Ibid.; Note by G.H., 24 May 1906; Note by Gabriel, 15 June 1906; DOL: Cameron to Gabriel, 21 May 1906; DOL: Chief Secretary Government of Bombay, Political Department, to Secretary GOI FD, 11 Jul. 1906. GOI FD, Internal B, Aug. 1906, progs. 474–508, NAI. 80. I thank Rana Chhina for this information. 81. DOL: Watson to Secretary, Government of India, Foreign Department, 20 Dec. 1904; Note by Curzon, 6 Jan. 1905, in GOI FD Secret I. Jan. 1905, progs. 36–7; Notes on Seventh Term, Amar Singh Diary, 27 May 1905; DOL: Under-Secretary, GOI FD to Cameron, 29 May 1905; and Letter to be sent by Commandant to Political Officers in States from which a cadet joins the Corps, in GOI FD Internal B, Jun. 1905, progs. 223–6, NAI. 82. India only decriminalized homosexuality in 2009, but only in the National Capital Region (Delhi). Sadly, however, even this very limited measure has been recently rescinded. For the Jodhpur case, see: Note by Wood, 8 Nov. 1906, in GOI FD, Internal B, Nov. 1907, prog. 439; Note by Minto, 21 May 1908; Note by S.H. Butler, 19 May 1908; and DOL: Butler to Taylor, 9 Jun. 1908, in GOI FD Notes, Internal B, May 1908, progs 443–444, NAI. For another examples of Foreign Department intervention, see: Fiona Groenhout, “Educating Govind Singh: ‘Princely Character’ and the Failure of Indirect Rule in Colonial India,” in P. Limb (ed.), Orb and Sceptre: Studies on British Imperialism and Its Legacies, in Honour of Norman Etherington, (Melbourne: Monash University epress, 2008). 83. Copy of DOL: Acting Principal, Rajkumar College, Rajkot, to Chief Secretary, Political Department, Government of Bombay, 14 May 1906,; Note by G.H., 17 Dec. 1908; Copy of DOL: Collector Surat and Political Agent Sachin to Political Secretary, Government of Bombay, 19 Nov. 1908, para. 2; Copy of Letter: Mr. K.M. Bariwala, Proprietor Victoria Theatrical Company & Bariwala Grand Theatre, to Secretary, Political Department, Government of Bombay, 1 Jan. 1908; Copy of DOL: Collector Surat and Political Agent Sachin to Political Secretary, Government of Bombay, 19 Nov. 1908, paras. 3–4, in GOI FD, Internal B, Mar. 1909, progs. 232–41 NAI. 84. Note by S.H. Butler, 16 Jan. 1909; DOL: Cameron to Minchin, 6 Jan. 1909, in ibid. 85. See: Ricketts to ?? , 10 Aug. 1914, para 3, in GOI FD Internal B, Sept. 1914, prog. 113, NAI. 86. Amar Singh Diary, 5 Oct. 1902; and Report on Winter Term, 1907–08, para 3, in GOI FD Notes, Internal B, Apr. 1908, prog. 128, NAI. 87. See: Enclosure 2 to Letter No. 279: Individual Reports on cadets for the half-year ending 4 Aug. 1914, in GOI FD Internal B, Sept. 1914, prog. 113, NAI. On Hari Singh’s role in the Kashmir crisis of 1947–8, see: S. Raghavan, War and Peace in Modern India, (New Delhi/ Houndmills: Permanent Black/Palgrave Macmillan, 2010), ch. 4. 88. This has been computed from the figures in: Appendix E to Letter 5C: Drummond to Government of India, Foreign Department, in GOI FD, Secret I, July 1910, progs. 1–11, NAI.

Chapter Four

Future Recruitment, Future Employment, and the Future of the Corps, 1902–1915

“Regimental duty is the natural introduction to a soldier’s career, in which an A.D.C.-ship is merely an interlude, the premature replacement of which can hardly fail to nullify the best endeavours for the welfare of . . . [the ICC] . . . and to result in disappointment to those who have put their trust in the Sircar.” 1 —Major D. Cameron, 1906 2 “One thing is certain, and that is that we are not going to get any commission in the British or Native Army.” —Kunwar Amar Singh, 1903 3

The ICC was not large, nor was it meant to be. Membership was by Calcutta’s invitation only. Residents in the larger princely states, Agents to the Governors-General in the various States Agencies, Political Officers posted to the smaller states 4—but especially those of Rajputana and Central India, deemed to be the Corps’ main recruiting grounds 5—and the provinces of British India, were to periodically forward names of suitable candidates to the Government, whom the Corps Commandant or Adjutant would then interview. 6 Every effort was made to avoid the lazy, socialite “gaiety lounge type,” 7 while inducing either young ruling princes, or heirs of princely states to join. In fact, by 1907, six princes had joined, though none of them completed even the two-year course. The major sources of cadets, however, were the four Chiefs’ Colleges. Officials thought of the Corps as the natural successor to these. 109

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To keep the ICC small and exclusive, yearly intake was never high. Between 1901 and 1908, 68 cadets were admitted. New enrollments reached double-digit figures only twice, in 1902 and 1905. Fifty-four cadets came from princely India, with only 14 from British India. While Rajputana Agency led the way, providing 18 cadets, it is interesting to note that supposedly non-martial states, such as those of the Kathiawar Agency (7) and Hyderabad (4), supplied more cadets individually than any “martial” state. Anglo-Indian authorities discouraged actively canvassing for candidates, even in the Corps’ later years, when interest in joining it waned. To them, this sort of publicity was entirely too crass, and “ungentlemanly.” When, in 1909, the ICC Commandant proposed approaching Maharaja Scindia for candidates, the Foreign Department rejected this outright, saying that “ . . . it is considered desirable to leave the proposal of [new] candidates as far as possible to the initiative of the Chiefs themselves.” 8 During the Corps’ existence, only eleven cadets were granted His Majesty’s Native Indian Land Force (HMNILF) commissions: four in 1905, three in 1907, one in 1911, and three in 1913. The Corps reached a low ebb in 1909, when the two cadets who passed the commissioning examination— both from Hyderabad—declined to accept their HMNILF commissions. The ICC was unpopular for four main reasons: the absence of tangible employment opportunities for graduating cadets; the Ruling Chiefs’ lack of sustained interest; complaints about the Corps’ training regime, location, high attrition rate; and finally, the persistent, unshakeable, and in some cases justified, belief that some of the Foreign Department’s political officers saw the Corps as a reform school for wayward boys, and used it as a threat over them. 9 Future employment of cadets was a concern to interested parties almost from the ICC’s inauguration. As early as 1903, one cadet, Kunwar Amar Singh, realized bitterly that he and his fellow cadets would not receive substantive officer commissions. But Curzon and his coterie were unconcerned. When Watson, just after his appointment as the Corps’ commandant, asked Sir Walter Lawrence about employment possibilities for Imperial Cadets, he was brusquely told that that was no concern of his. 10 Moreover, to an entirely reasonable suggestion by the Military Member of his council that graduating cadets could be profitably employed in the IST contingents, Curzon retorted rudely that if that were the purpose of the ICC, he “ . . . would throw the scheme into the waste paper basket” 11 The crux of the problem was the thorny powers of command question. What Anglo-India feared most was the possibility of an Indian commanding either junior ranking British officers, or British other ranks—something which he would be entitled to do if he had a King’s or Queen’s Commission. As this cut to the very core of Anglo-Indian notions of superiority over “natives,” it was to be avoided at all costs. Watson himself did not subscribe

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to this belief, stating that “a well-born Native of good character with brains, courage, money, and an English education can become, to all intents and purposes an Englishman.” 12 Echoing Henry Lawrence, he contended that such men did exist, that their numbers would only increase with the spread of British education in India, and that there would come a time when they would exercise command over even British troops. As proof of this, he pointed to the example of Kunwar Ranjit Sinhji of Nawanagar, who, at that time, captained the Sussex Cricket eleven where, Watson was told, he “ . . . wielded his authority with no uncertain hand.” 13 In mid-January 1904, Watson advanced a bold plan to cater for ICC graduates. Rather than create a new regiment or regiments for them, he proposed the wholesale conversion of existing IST contingents into Local Imperial Troop (LIT) contingents, which Simla would organize and administer. The LITs would be officered by “Indian gentlemen,” who would be ICC graduates. In this way, ICC graduates would be given real commissions, drawing the same pay as English officers of the same rank, although Watson conceded that they might receive lower pensions. Watson contended that the conversion of IST contingents to LIT units would improve their efficiency, because they could be more usefully posted in cantonments on main rail lines, within reach of equipment stations and points of concentration set forth in mobilization schemes. This would place them in closer touch with other units and service arms, with whom they would have to cooperate closely. Such collaboration, Watson maintained, could only have a positive effect on their military efficiency and ability. Finally, such an arrangement would increase, or at least maintain, the steady flow of umedwars (candidates in Urdu), especially from the Rathore clan of the Rajputs, “whom . . . [the Foreign Department had] . . . been trying for years to enlist in our service.” Watson posited that by locating a few LIT regiments in Rajputana and making them ineligible for service outside that region except during wartime, “we should get as many Rathores as we want.” 14 Though a shortage of qualified officers rendered the immediate converting of all IST units to the LIT standard impossible, Watson nevertheless insisted that a start could be made with a single IST unit. The time was not yet ripe for Anglo-India to regard giving Indians officer commissions with the same powers of command as Englishmen “with equanimity,” though Watson conceded that eventually, these fears would subside as “education and imperial sentiment draws the native closer to us.” In the interim, it was imperative to “ensure the minimum of friction by keeping the . . . [races] . . . apart.” Finally, he predicted that “English officers would not be offended, and the Native himself would be thoroughly content.” 15 But Curzon was again dismissive, stating unequivocally that he was not prepared to convert the whole IST system to benefit “ . . . a narrowly limited number of young Indian gentlemen who have received a somewhat perfunc-

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tory military education over a period of three years.” 16 This from a man who, a scant three years earlier, had extolled the princes as the one Indian class that had exhibited unstinting loyalty toward the Raj, is perplexing, unless one views it through the prism of Ornamentalism. Platitudes aside, Curzon revealed his conception of the Corps privately, in an inter-office note. If the Corps was open to recruiting young princes and noblemen who desired a military career he feared the result would be “a plethora of young men who had qualified for a military commission,” for whom it “might” be very difficult to find posts. Therefore he hoped that a small number of places at the ICC would be reserved for young men of the highest princely rank, whom the Corps would discipline and educate rather than qualify them for a military career. It then followed that convincing Ruling Chiefs to send their sons and younger male relations into the ICC was a matter of the highest importance to maintain the ICC’s prestige, though he was certain that not many of these cadets would qualify for a HMNILF commission. “Otherwise [wrote the Viceroy] there will be a tendency for it to become an Indian Sandhurst for the sons of progressive nobles . . . which was far from . . . [the] . . . intention in founding it.” 17 Terrible press forced the Viceroy’s hand. A scathing editorial on the Corps appeared in the 31 March 1904 issue of the The Civil & Military Gazette of Lahore, an influential Anglo-Indian daily. 18 The piece plainly stated that the Viceroy’s ICC “pet scheme,” instead of “open[ing] a new military career to the aristocracy of India,” was “tottering to a fall.” Why, if the cadets had been carefully selected and “picked examples from the noble families of India,” had the Corps been subjected to a wholesale weeding out, so that only 7 of the 22 cadets who “were so much in evidence at [Curzon’s] Delhi Durbar” remained on strength? Surely this sort of “success” would deter young Indian aristocrats from coming forward as candidates, especially considering the expense of the Corps. Moreover, the article warned that the “‘failed cadets,’ with their expensive European tastes and some proficiency in polo, will be a new and not wholly desirable addition to the ranks of the discontented.” In fact, the article had been instigated by the relatives of cadet Basant Singh of Attari, who were furious that he had been dismissed. The writer of the article suggested that the Corps’ future was as a training school for the scions of the aristocracy in native states who were intended to fill the commissioned ranks of the Imperial Service contingents of their respective states, and that, if this course was followed, the ICC would have to adopt a practical and less “ornamental” training programme. If nothing was done, however, the Corps would continue to be a “costly, but imperfectly considered experiment, with no tangible result.” 19 Curzon responded vehemently, taking particular exception to the article’s suggestion that there was, in fact, no future employment for third-year graduates of the Corps. He also lamented the fact that “there . . . [were] many who

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appear[ed] to be impressed by . . . [the] . . . dismal and entirely gratuitous chorus” of the press, whom the Viceroy denounced as “ravens . . . croaking on every tree.” 20 The furor the editorial caused, plus the existence of Watson’s LIT scheme, led Curzon to call a conference at the Viceregal Lodge at Simla at the end of April, 1904. Besides Curzon and Watson, Kitchener (CinC), Elles (Military Member), Duff (Adj.-Gen.), and Dane (Foreign Secretary) were present. Although the meeting’s stated purpose was to consider the future employment of youths at the Corps, Kitchener, who was already at odds with the Viceroy over the issue of the powers of the Military Member relative to the CinC India, immediately hijacked the agenda by bringing up the nature of the Corps itself and also the character of the cadets. 21 Expressing surprise that the Corps had admitted a youth such as Malik Mumtaz Mohammed Khan, who was “so ordinary” that his brother had obtained a direct commission as a Jemadar, the CinC suggested that henceforth, the ICC be restricted to Ruling Chiefs, their sons, and close relations. He did not want to lump apples and oranges together by mixing Indian aristocrats with fighting men of the martial races. Curzon countered immediately, saying that the composition of the Corps had already been carefully considered. Furthermore, he went on to explain, the purpose of the Corps was to provide military careers not for ruling princes, but for the aristocracy of British India and the native states. In fact, said the Viceroy somewhat disingenuously, he was quite surprised to discover ruling princes, heirs, and their relations in the first batch of the Corps, and that he certainly never intended for any of them to take the third-year course, when a course in administration and government would serve them in better stead. 22 Kitchener then proposed that the Corps be converted into a military school to train both Imperial Cadets and native gentlemen to be directly commissioned as Jemadars. Direct commissions into the Indian Officer ranks already existed, but there was no formalized training for the posts. Kitchener had already been considering opening some such school. He reported that, what with the rising technical requirements of the Army, a general belief was growing among Anglo-Indian commanding officers of the essential need for such a training school, where “young men of good family, selected for direct commissions as Jemadars . . . receive some preliminary theoretical instruction . . . so as to enable them to derive the fullest advantage from the practical training which they afterwards receive in their regiments.” 23 Kitchener had already taken the initiative in this direction, by asking the Adjutant-General’s branch to formulate a scheme entailing the establishment of such a military school, utilizing existing buildings, where a two-year course would be given to two classes of 40 students each. Candidates were to be either young civilians of good martial race background, or young Indian NCOs who showed exceptional intelligence and martial promise. All candidates were to be nominated, either by the CinC, in the case of the former, or

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by unit commanders, in the latter case. Cadets were to receive the then fairly princely sum of Rs. 30 per month as pay, and were to provide their own uniforms. They were to be taught to speak, read and write English, “calculate in English figures,” and instructed in drill, gymnastics, musketry, signaling, map-reading, sketching, elementary field engineering, scouting, horse management, and the shifts and expedients of camp life—in short, everything connected with the practical working of a cavalry troop or an infantry company in the field, save military law. After passing the final exams at this school, military candidates would rejoin their units for a six-month probationary period of regimental duty before being considered for posting as Jemadar. If found unfit, they were either to be discharged or allowed to rejoin their unit at the NCO level. 24 Although Kitchener’s plan was quite elaborate and well-thought-out, even to the point of detailing how many staff it would take to run such a military school, he curiously chose not to table it at the conference. He did so for two reasons: firstly, because he deemed the political situation to be veering toward unrest and, above all, the financial situation was not opportune for an increase of expenditure; and secondly, because he did not want to give the impression that his military school was to be a rival to the ICC. Already, he perceived that the Corps was in a moribund state, and he expected its “natural dissolution” soon. When this happened, Kitchener would “save the day”— and the Government’s prestige—by presenting the scheme outlined above. “In this way, [he opined] the Imperial Cadet School might be raised from its present unsatisfactory position to that of a first class Military College, where all classes of aspirants for commissions might receive a professional training such as would fit them for a military career either in the regular army or in the imperial Service troops.” 25 Curzon, however, was not prepared to entertain Kitchener’s idea. He said that it “ . . . opened up an entirely different question . . . [which could] . . . be considered at some later date.” 26 Watson agreed with Kitchener in that the ICC’s composition should be confined as far as possible to Ruling Chiefs and their close relations. Dane pointed out, however, that effecting this restriction would be difficult, since Hamilton, in paragraph 9 of his June 14, 1901, secret dispatch, specifically stated that the selection of Imperial Cadets should include chiefs and their relations as well as suitable native gentlemen of British India. Curzon concurred, holding that good birth and social position, not princely background, should be the prime criteria for selection. 27 Next on the agenda was the question of how many cadets would actually qualify for commissioning. Watson replied that it was very difficult to make an accurate prediction, as the military department was unclear as to the number of openings available. This demonstrates how “out-of-the-loop” the ICC Commandant was seemingly kept, in that he did not know of Maitland’s estimation of September 1900, which postulated that 49 postings could be

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provided on the staffs of the Army’s first- and second-class military districts. Then again, the Maitland memo might have been suppressed by Curzon, or have been disregarded entirely by Kitchener, who had assumed the CinCship in 1902. Finally, the fact that Maitland only made a suggestion about the postings did not imply immediate agreement by the Army Headquarters India. Watson estimated that the seven Imperial Cadets remaining in the Corps would qualify for commissions in April 1905, and included his assessment of them. Though Zorawar Singh was an “exceptional man,” well-qualified to take command of the Imperial Service Lancers of his home state— Bhavnagar—it was natural that, after a three years’ course in the cadet corps, he should expect a British Commission. However, he was rather “soft.” Amanat Ullah, a nephew of the late Nawab of Tonk, though very poor, was “a good man . . . [who] . . . deserve[d] a commission.” Khan Mahomed Akbar Khan, a Yusufzai Pathan, the son and heir of the chief of Hoti Mardan, was “a very hard-working, persevering, deserving young man . . . [but did not have] . . . a very clear head.” Amar Singh, a Rathore Rajput, though not wealthy, was “a fighting soldier,” for whom regimental employment would be best. Wali-ud-Din of Hyderabad was “very anxious to get a commission.” Aga Casim Shah, a nephew of H.H. Aga Khan, was “a very nice, quiet gentleman, with sober aspirations . . . [who] . . . would be well-received in a good regiment.” The Eton-educated Raj Rajendra Narayan, being indistinguishable from an English gentleman, was eminently suitable to be commissioned. 28 Besides these seven, Watson thought that two cadets would qualify in 1907, and three or four the following year. After that, the number of commissions granted would depend upon enrollment in the ICC. Curzon quickly allayed fears expressed at the conference that the commissions granted ICC graduates would entitle them to command British Officers and other ranks, by stating categorically that there was no such intention, and that “ . . . no uttered statement would lead the cadets to think this.” 29 Watson backed him up here, stating that no Imperial Cadet had any expectation of commanding Englishmen. As we shall see in the pages that follow, these statements were not quite true. There was unanimous agreement that those cadets who qualified after taking the third-year course would be given special rather than honorary King`s Commissions, that these commissions be Second-Lieutenancies, and that the wording of the commissions preclude any chance of commanding Britons. There was also general agreement favoring posting graduates of the third-year course in extra-regimental postings. 30 A suggestion was also made that direct commissions to the rank of Jemadar be granted to those Imperial Cadets who had passed the second-year course but were judged ill-qualified for the third-year course. Although this measure was tacitly approved by all present, they decided that it would not be publicized as it was deemed derogatory to the dignity and prestige of the

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Corps. They clearly feared the disincentive to recruitment that publicizing such a measure would be, although it must be said that some cadets might have preferred Viceroy’s Commissions with even limited command powers to HMNILF commissions with no command powers at all. In keeping with the need-to-know basis of the measure, it was agreed that the offer of a Viceroy’s Commission would only be made to cadets considered for it. 31 The meeting then progressed to a general discussion of postings. Elles, the Military Member, expressed his support for Watson’s proposal. Kitchener, however, poured the coldest water possible on this idea. Citing his earlier experience as Sirdar (head) of the Egyptian Army, he maintained that no British officer would ever agree to serving with or under a man of darker pigment. 32 The Viceroy agreed with his CinC, that the time had not arrived for the formation of the corps Watson advocated. The ICC was still an experiment, and, as with any such experiment, one needed to proceed cautiously, to first ascertain how Imperial Cadets were likely to develop. Therefore, rather than adopting a bold plan such as Watson’s, Curzon contended that the most prudent course was to treat each case individually, as it arose. The immediate necessity was to find suitable posts for the cadets then and in the next few years. Curzon agreed with Kitchener that the whole future of the Corps would depend on the performance of ex-cadets in these billets. The meeting then considered possible posts for the seven third-year cadets. Zorawar Singh could be suitably posted as commander of the Bhavnagar Imperial Service Lancers. He would be treated as a British Lieutenant while in this post, but would draw his salary from Bhavnagar state. Amanatullah Khan was deemed suitable for posting to the Malwa/Mewar Bhil Corps when they converted to battalions of military police. Khan Mohammed Akbar Khan, a frontier Pathan, could be posted to the Frontier Militia. Amar Singh appeared to be best fitted for a staff appointment with a cavalry general. It was suggested that General Beatson, the InspectorGeneral of the ISTs, be asked if he would be willing to take Amar Singh on as an ADC. Other possible postings for Amar Singh included the Jaipur, Alwar and Jodhpur ISTs. Because of pressing private affairs, Wali-ud-Din Khan was not expected to remain long in the military. Still, it was agreed that he might be offered employment as ADC to the commander of the Secunderabad station. Similarly, Aga Cassim Shah could be posted as an ADC on the staff of the Poona station commander. Though Raj Rajendra Narayan, the Rajkumar (crown prince) of the Cooch Behar Gadi, had been at the Corps for only a year, it was felt that, by virtue of his Eton education, he was already fully fit for the third-year course. However Curzon rejected the idea that he be granted the HMNILF commission without completing the three years’ residence. It was decided that the best plan was to have him join a British unit on one year’s probation, after he had completed his second year at the Corps. 33

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These conclusions and decisions, however, were in no way binding, because the conference was merely advisory. The only certainty to emerge from the conference was that the Viceroy’s pledge would make a public statement on the cadets’ future and the government’s intentions. Accordingly, the Government of India (GoI) issued the predictable press communiqué, which merely restated the ICC’s aims and that details of the employment of the seven cadets who were then undergoing the third-year course still had to be finalized. There was thus “ . . . no foundation for the statement that appeared recently in the press to the effect that the Imperial Cadet Corps has proved to be a failure or that it is tottering to a fall. . . . [Indeed, the Corps was] . . . about to reassemble at Dehra Dun, with a total immediate strength of 19 or 20.” 34 Two years later, Major Cameron, who had just taken over from Watson as Commandant of the ICC, raised the postings question again. What alarmed both him and Watson was that, five years into the ICC “experiment,” when the second batch of Imperial cadets were nearing graduation, there was still no definite and permanent employment for them, apart from ADC postings. To be a career ADC, argued Cameron, went against British military practice, which did not allow an officer to become an ADC until he had served for three years in a regiment and had learned the minutiae of regimental duty. ADC and staff postings were only for a four-year period, after which the officer was to return to regimental duty, so as to keep his military skills current. 35 Therefore, the IST and ADC posts were only stopgaps, which could not “ . . . offer any prospect of a career in the Indian Army satisfying the ultimate aspirations of the pick of the . . . Corps. [who were] . . . a class of their own . . . —British enough to even ‘think’ in English—who . . . [would] be an efficient and valuable addition to the Army.” Moreover, Cameron contended that they were “popular and appreciated” among Englishmen. 36 Cameron felt that the time was right to provide regimental employment for third-year graduates of the Corps. Since regular regimental postings were not in the cards, IST posts were scarce and uncertain, and the much-vaunted extra-regimental billets had not materialized, Cameron proposed to employ cadets in a special corps of Imperial Mounted Infantry (IMI). The corps would initially be not more than four 150-man double companies—one each composed of Punjabi Muslims and Rangars (Rajput Muslims), and the rest of Rathore Rajputs. Each double company was to be officered thus: one commandant, who was to be a lieutenant-colonel; one adjutant, who was to be either a captain or a lieutenant; four double-company officers; and eight company officers. Cameron was confident that these last would be filled by Imperial Cadets, who held HMNILF commissions. In a procedure reminiscent of the one first mooted by Chesney, he proposed that any vacancies among British officers of the IMI would be filled by duly qualified Imperial Cadets. Moreover, there were to be no Indian Officers in the IMI, firstly,

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because they would be superfluous in a unit officered by Indian lieutenants, and secondly, because Cameron thought this would lead to jealousies similar to those that occurred between Royal officers and their Company counterparts in the EIC. He was confident that the HMNILF commission holders would be “ . . . quite good enough to command their men with the assistance of capable non-commissioned officers (havildars and naiks).” 37 Cameron thought his scheme held four advantages for the Indian Army. First, a mounted infantry corps would be a valuable addition to the Army’s strength. Second, it would be less expensive to raise and maintain than a regular cavalry regiment. Third, such a unit would appeal to the “ . . . horseman’s instinct, which is inherent in all Indians of gentle birth.” Finally, and perhaps most importantly, it would, by providing scope for the cavalry training provided by the ICC, increase princely interest in it, and boost recruitment—when Cameron wrote this recruitment into the Corps was becoming uncertain. In 1907, there would be no candidate for commissioning, the single candidate unfortunately having had to retire due to failing health. 38 The Foreign Department was now beginning to share Cameron’s concerns. In August 1906, an official there, Vivian Gabriel, observed that the four cadets who had passed their commissioning examination had still not received their postings. This naturally caused not only them, but the present and prospective ICC members to be anxious. “Howling” Indian newspapers had seized upon this, concluding from Kitchener’s ambiguous reply to Gopal Krishna Gokhale, in Council on March 21, 1906, that the Government could not make any promises regarding the future employment of ex-Imperial Cadets. Gabriel cautiously supported Cameron’s proposal. Abolishing the ICC, or letting it die of inaction, would definitely reflect unfavorably upon Calcutta, especially at a time when the wider employment of Indians in positions of trust was being actively promoted. He felt that “ . . . the impression produced would undoubtedly be that the Government of India had finally decided to debar the upper classes of Indian society from all chance of a military career suitable to their rank and training.” 39 Gabriel broke down existing Indianization proposals into essentially three segments: first, native regiments with Indian Officers; second, native higher commissions in the Indian Army; and third, native higher commissions in the British Home Army. He also noted CinC Kitchener’s opposition to creating Indian-officered regiments because British officers would never serve in them. However, he noted that Kitchener made these remarks in 1904, before the first Imperial Cadets received their commissions, and before it was known that these commissions would absolutely preclude command over British officers and soldiers. The “political cravings” of the Indian aristocratic classes—which included procuring real commissions in the Army—could not continue to be ignored. Wrote Gabriel, “we want them [the Indian princes and aristocratic classes] as a set off to the Babu and the Poona Brahmin; 40 their traditions are entirely military [and]

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they are attached to the British Crown by the same sort of feelings as those by which we ourselves are inspired, and they retain to a very marked degree that peculiar influence that it has happily been found impossible to eradicate even in the most democratic Indian communities.” Continuing, Gabriel noted how “these are all that apparently by a few small concessions, might be greatly turned to the advantage in India and to the security of British power.” Clearly Gabriel thought Cameron’s plan would be a good start toward this goal. Not only would it “tide over the immediate crisis” by providing for the present number of cadets at least up until 1909, but also prove advantageous, from Calcutta’s perspective, to make a small and harmless experiment of the kind suggested by Cameron. The IMI corps could be reviewed by the military department after two years, and, if found to have failed, provide Calcutta with an “ironclad” riposte for those complaining of the shutting-off of higher military employment for Indians. Failure of Cameron’s scheme would also mean that the Indian Government would be able to close the ICC with a clear conscience. 41 Although he considered “ . . . the whole idea [of] . . . even allow[ing] natives to serve as superior [army] officers . . . a delusion,” another official, H.R.C. Dobbs, nevertheless felt that Cameron’s scheme was the lesser of two evils. It would be politically expedient, he reasoned, to risk the “spoilage” of one or two native regiments by officering them with Imperial Cadets rather than alienating the entire princely class at a time when other political initiatives—what eventually became the Morley-Minto reforms of 1909—were afoot to extend the voting rights of Indians for the legislative council and to invest the legislature with greater powers of interpellation. This reform would undoubtedly increase the power of the “educated agitators who have no real stake in the country, at the expense of the [Indian] landholders and aristocracy.” If Calcutta did not redress the balance by giving the latter career options for which they were suited, such as military officers, then there was a real danger that the Indian princes and aristocracy would make common cause with the Babus, and present a united front against the Raj. Calcutta would have no one with whom to collaborate and the British Indian Empire would be finished. 42 Contrary to Dobbs’s pragmatism, Sir Louis Dane, the Foreign Secretary, thought it imperative to overcome [the] prejudice [of British officers] against . . . Indian commissioned officers.” 43 This would best be done by “an object lesson,” which Cameron’s proposal seemed the best way of providing. The IMI could be begun at once, at Sirdarpur in Rajputana, where it could be accomodated at buildings previously occupied by the Malwa Bhil Corps, which was about to be converted into a military police unit and posted elsewhere. Headquartering the new experimental corps at Sirdarpur held many advantages: the country was suitable; the living and fodder was cheap; the water supply was excellent; it was near the great cavalry and army re-

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mount station of Mhow; and finally, and perhaps most importantly, stationing the mounted infantry corps at Sirdarpur, among British-officered cavalry units, would force mixing and fraternity between British officers and HMNILF commission holders. Dane was confident that, after about a decade, the familiarity created by this sort of close contact would at least make a start in wearing down color prejudice. 44 On January 3, 1907, Dane took advantage of the Viceroy’s visit to Agra to convene an informal conference to discuss the ICC’s future. Attending this meeting were Sir Pertab Singh, now the Maharaja of Idar, and thirteen others, mostly political officers from the Foreign Department, including Colonel Daly, the Agent to the Governor-General in Central India, and Mr. Colvin, the Governor-General's Agent in Rajputana. Also present were Watson, Cameron, and Captain R. O’B. Taylor, the ICC’s adjutant. Significantly, Viceroy Lord Minto, and any Military Department representative were absent. After considerable discussion, five general propositions—nothing as definite as resolutions—were accepted “unanimously.” First, it was invidious to exclude deserving and qualified Indians to higher employment in the Raj’s military at a time when Calcutta was extending employment in the civil line to Indians. Second, the ICC was facing immediate collapse unless placed on a sound footing. The situation now was that youths from princely families who did not require employment were not coming in sufficient numbers to justify the expense involved in the ICC. The problem with the other lesser gentlemanly candidates was that they were loath to join the Corps unless they were assured to have a regular and sustained career as a military officer. Third, the uncertain, irregular and sporadic extra-regimental billets on staffs were not a sufficient inducement for recruitment. Cameron’s scheme, if put into operation, would be “a great stimulus,” keeping the ICC alive until a final decision on its future was reached. Fourth, it was “most desirable,” from the public-relations perspective, that those Ruling Chiefs of high pedigree and standing who had successfully completed their second year at the Corps be granted Honorary King’s Commissions suited to their status and be attached to regiments which had some connection to their respective states or families. Finally, it was agreed to recommend that the level of a cadet’s expenses at the ICC be limited to Rs. 250 per month. 45 This was brought up because of an earlier discussion between Gabriel and Cameron, where the latter had suggested that, in order to increase candidates’ interest in the Corps, some initiative had to be taken to limit cadet expenditure. 46 C.H. Hill, the resident at Mewar, and C.W. Waddington, the principal of Mayo College, reported that the princely durbars themselves were becoming discontented with the Corps. Durbars disliked the fact that Dehra Dun, while salubrious, and a major military station, was far distant from the Rajputana and Central India homes of most of the cadets. The age range where young princes, rajkumars, nawabzadas and lesser Indian nobles were supposed to

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attend the corps fell precisely when they would be learning their duties and responsibilities at home. They would be absent for “[a]ll sorts of ceremonies—in their eyes of the utmost importance,” 47 and their non-attendance would be inevitably noticed and resented. It was also felt that the three-year ICC course, when added to the 6 to 8 years of “banishment”—note the wording here, which suggested exile and hardship—at a chiefs’ college, was an excessive time for a Rajput youth to be away from his durbar. The duration and continuity of ICC training was akin to that given to prospective regular officers, but the durbars Hill and Waddington consulted felt that, in the absence of such a “definite end,” much of the Corps training was useless. Finally, the durbars were affronted by the way in which the Corps “ . . . regards [the] boys as a body of raw recruits to be drilled morning noon and night, and to be hard led as a military unit instead of as congeries of extremely sensitive and proud individuals.” Both Waddington and Hill recommended changes in order to make the ICC a going concern. The ICC needed to be relocated, and they both recommended Mayo College at Ajmer, right in the middle of Rajputana, as the ideal site. It was essential that the ICC curriculum be shortened, and more emphasis placed, not on military studies, but on administration, which would be of more use to young Indian aristocrats. At Mayo, a post-diploma course would be instituted, with two branches: civil and military. In this way, the principal and the resident thought all complaints of the durbars and lesser aristocrats would be satisfied. 48 Lieutenant-Colonel Sir James Dunlop Smith, 49 Viceroy Lord Minto’s private secretary, reacted somewhat angrily to the tone the discussions seemed to be taking. Having been a political officer in India, and chief political resident at various princely states, he thought the durbars’ complaints childish, and could not help feeling that Waddington’s proposal was designed more to further the claims of the college he headed than to satisfy the sensibilities of the princely durbars. Dunlop Smith then proceeded to demolish the complaints. The Corps’ unpopularity was inevitable, considering that the cadets were callow youths who inevitably “compare their lot with boys on the outside who are more or less on their own and at liberty to go [to] the devil their own way.” 50 Dunlop Smith dismissed the length and monotony charge, saying that no cadet, except those opting for the third year, was kept at the Corps for more than two years, and that, while in attendance, cadets were shown every consideration and “special indulgence.” Indeed, Dunlop Smith confessed that he did not understand the monotony charge. Compared with conditions at Mayo College, life at the Corps was “freedom and variety itself!” As for complaints about incessant drilling, which Rajput cadets felt was beneath them, as they were already, in their own opinions, proficient riders, Dunlop Smith was quick to point out that the drilling regime at the Corps was nothing compared to the instruction at Sandhurst. Moving the ICC to Mayo College would create more problems than it would solve. Reloca-

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tion to Ajmer would do nothing to shorten distances, as cadets came from places as diverse as Hoti Mardan, which was almost in Afghanistan, and Hyderabad, which was in southern India. Moreover, it would drive down recruitment even further, as Sikhs, Muslims, and Mahrattas would not come, for fear of being “Rajputized.” 51 The phrase “lurching along” comes to mind when describing the condition of the Corps at this time. Cameron painted a bleak picture in his report of April 1908. Though the completion of the Corps’ buildings at Dehra “ . . . afforded a most comfortable winter quarters . . . [t]he paucity of Cadets still remain[ed] a matter for regret.” 52 There were only eleven cadets at the Corps, three of whom—Rao Raghunath Singh of Bharatpur, H.H. Arjun Singh, the Raja of Narsinghar, and Nawabzada Ahmed Khan of Sachin—were more or less incapacitated by sickness. The number of “working members”—8—was too small a number to form an effective quorum for sport or work. Cameron reported that, despite this, they managed, “ . . . by dint of putting some of the pensioned line-guard into the ranks at drill and by encouraging such sports as require a minimum of players.” For this term at least, polo and cricket were difficult to mount. Finally, three cadets—Mir Ghulam Raza Khan, Raghunath Singh, and Raja Arjun Singh of Narsinghar—were leaving the Corps, the first two having completed the third-year course. 53 The diarist Amar Singh, himself an ICC alumnus, and therefore an Indian “who mattered,” had the opportunity to observe the Corps at Agra in early 1907. He regretted that the Corps had deteriorated. The boys are taught practically nothing except words out of the dictionary. They are . . . making fun of it. The great drawback in studies is due to Major Watson’s leaving . . . Major Cameron is not very much of a tutor. I hear Capt. Taylor [the new adjutant] is a good teacher and . . . takes the boys on at some military subjects, though these are practically nothing. There is not much strictness, and the boys do nothing but have an easy life. There is no one going on for a commission[ing] exam this year, and as most of them will be leaving at the end of March . . . [T]here is no chance of anyone getting a commission for the next three years at the earliest. 54

Amar Singh thought of two ways the Corps could be improved. As many cadets were being weeded out after their second year because of deficient education levels, one obvious solution was to improve the education at the Chiefs’ Colleges—the nurseries of the Corps. There is evidence that candidates were joining the Corps without completing their studies at the Chiefs’ Colleges. When Cameron asked Amar Singh whether his youngest brother, Sardar Singh, would be joining the Corps, Amar Singh replied that Sardar would first have to finish his studies at Mayo College. When Cameron asked why, Amar Singh replied that the boy was not educated enough to gain a HMNILF commission. Amar Singh records that Cameron’s response to this

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was rather glib: that if the boy was not educated enough now, he never would be. Amar shot back immediately that if this were the case, there was no use in Sardar Singh attending the Corps at all! Secondly, Amar Singh felt that cadets who withdrew from the Corps after completing two years had to be given something more tangible than permission to wear the Corps’ uniform. He also did not think much of a proposal to pay cadets during their time at the Corps. To him, this was another case of skirting the issue. Cadets attended the Corps for education and employment. The government should give them that, instead of “ . . . half-educat[ing] & leav[ing] them.” 55 Clearly, the ex-Imperial Cadet was frustrated, however, there is no indication that his entirely reasonable ideas percolated up to the corridors of power. Watson, the ICC’s former commandant, was even more impassioned. Lamenting the poor intake of new cadets, he advocated making two years’ attendance at the Corps mandatory for every heir to a gadi, as well as every young nobleman whose future life was to be spent in a princely durbar. Indeed, Watson wanted to turn the Corps into “a . . . university . . . [where] . . . the nobles of India . . . must come [even] if they have to be dragged here by the scruff of their necks.” If this happened, there was hope that, as “the traditions of the Cadet Corps . . . [were] . . . diffused throughout India . . . the ‘best born’ may actually become ‘the best.’” Watson concluded by urging the Foreign Department to send “a whip round” to princes—to “ . . . rouse these young gentlemen who call themselves aristocrats to a sense of their obligations.” 56 Amidst all this, the Corps received a direct and crippling hit. In an official letter to the Foreign Department, Sir Nripendra of Cooch Behar, hitherto one of the Corps’ staunchest supporters—and the man whose initiative had originated the idea which eventually became the ICC—announced that he was withdrawing his two younger sons from the Corps. The reason was his disappointment that, even if they successfully passed their third year, his sons would be barred from holding regular commissions in the Indian Army as British officers. Moreover, Sir Nripendra accused Calcutta of playing false in the ICC matter, by promising things that it now deemed undeliverable. He drove home his point by saying that he could not see what reason Calcutta would have had for not granting regular commissions to “ . . . those sons and near relations of ruling chiefs, who . . . [were] . . . by education and training, fitted to take their place among British officers.” 57 This last statement was clearly inserted to make the Government squirm; and lest the reader think that the Maharaja’s accusation was merely a case of princely whingeing and misunderstanding, a look at the official pronouncements demonstrates that it was not. Rule 1 of the Corps’ draft rules stated that the ICC’s eventual result would be that it’s graduates would “ . . . take their place in the Imperial Army as British officers.” Similarly, the official government communiqué announcing the ICC to the Indian public stated that “ . . . the entire course of

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instruction . . . will be so designed to enable the pick of the cadets to take their place as British officers.” 58 Of course, officials could have argued that, since HMNILF officers and King’s Commissioned officers were both under the British crown, the former were in fact, British officers. This ploy was not even tried, presumably because Indian aristocrats would have rightly seen it as a specious and legalistic argument. Sir Nripendra’s letter riled Whitehall, which had hitherto kept aloof from the Corps’ inner workings. In August 1908, Lord John Morley, 59 India Secretary in the Asquith government, sent a dispatch to Calcutta, requesting answers to the following questions. Why had the ICC’s numbers always remained low? Was any truth to the rumor that ruling princes and Chiefs had lost interest in it? Could the Indian nobility’s reasonable aspirations could be met by the formation of a scheme based on Cameron’s proposal? 60 One of the officials the India Office contacted was Captain Taylor, the Corps’ adjutant who was officiating as its commandant while Cameron was on leave. He vehemently “toed the party line” regarding the ICC. Though he was disappointed that there was no yearly increase in intake, Taylor discounted claims that the Corps had decreased in popularity, and dismissed the oft-heard complaint about the costliness of the ICC. Had not the Government provided “ . . . quarters, furniture, chargers, and saddlery . . . ,” 61 free of charge, to cadets? He rejected the contention, which he had heard from the Maharaja of Bikaner, that the lack of long-term employment opportunities in the regular army deterred princely and noble youths from entering the ICC in greater numbers. On the basis of just two cases—one where an ICC graduate had accepted civilian employment, and the other where a cadet was expressly prevented by his princely chief from accepting an HMNILF commission— Taylor argued that a “ . . . large percentage of boys who join the Corps do not expect to get anything out of it.” 62 In Taylor's opinion, many of the Ruling Chiefs thought it below their dignity and prestige as rulers to send their sons or relatives to the ICC. This unfortunate opinion was fostered by the rumor that the ICC building had been used as a jail by the Maharaja of Jodhpur. Some political agents attached to the princely states were tarnishing the ICC by using it as a threat to ensure the pliability of the Chiefs. He believed, however, that stressing the Corps’ prestige value by reminding Chiefs and princes that, by attending the Corps themselves, or sending youths to the ICC, they were accepting the personal invitation of none other than the Viceroy himself, would counteract this negative impression. Taylor also thought that the number of princes and Chiefs joining the ICC would increase if it was made clear that the GoI viewed the ICC course as an integral element in the training of princes, and one without which they would not be considered fully qualified to assume their stations. Such a requirement would prevent many of them from becoming “ . . . bar loafers and wasters.” In addition to this, Taylor recommended

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that greater publicity be accorded the ICC to make it more popular. He asserted that little was known about the Corps, and the general impression among youths of the Indian nobility was that it entailed a great deal of work and little play. To counteract this, Taylor suggested that sports teams from the Corps go on friendly tours of the princely states, whose teams they would play. He was sure that seeing such a display would be enough inducement for young boys of good families to want to become cadets. 63 Kitchener, still the CinC India, did not mince words. The ICC had failed in three fundamental ways. First, it had not provided a viable military career to Indian noblemen. Kitchener echoed Sir Nripendra’s critique that the Corps had not honored the very press communiqué announcing its own creation, by failing to provide ICC graduates with “ . . . the rank, the position, and the duty of a British officer in the staff or other extra-regimental employment.” Here, he reiterated the views of Crosthwaite, Gabriel and Dobbs—it was inevitable that the princes and noblemen should feel cheated. “Steps of this sort,” he wrote, did “nothing but harm, for the disappointment they caused” and “engendered greater and worse discontent than they . . . [were] . . . intended to remove.” 64 Second, the ICC had failed because of the eight cadets that had so far received HMNILF commissions, none were, in Kitchener’s opinion, of the princely classes, more than one being from a much lower class. He cited the example of Malik Mumtaz Muhammed Khan, a Tiwana 65 of Shahpur, who was neither a prince nor a nobleman, and thought that his family would have been just as content to let him become an Indian Officer, had not the opportunity of the ICC presented itself. Kitchener argued that the ICC was quite harmful to the regular Indian Army, because many potential soldiers of the martial races were not joining the rank and file and also not applying for direct commissions to the Indian Officer grades, preferring rather to hold out for nominations to join the ICC, which they viewed as conferring a great deal of status. To the CinC, the Corps, by being the Foreign Department’s responsibility, was purely a political initiative. Military authorities in India were not so much as even consulted on the selection of cadets for whom they would eventually have to find suitable employment. The “brilliant pageant” its members provided at the 1901 Durbar proved to Kitchener that the ICC was little more than a public-relations exercise. Kitchener complained that he had duly brought the “fundamental errors” of the ICC scheme to Curzon’s attention, but that his concerns were ignored. Third, Kitchener argued that no real benefit was derived from the eight ICC graduates currently employed in the Indian Army. He defined “real benefit” as performance of a useful function. By this criterion, two of the eight ICC graduates who had joined the Imperial Service detachment of their state, but whose salaries were borne by the GoI, were not being employed usefully. Two others were serving as ADCs to generals, but they only supplemented, rather than replaced, the British ADCs on these generals’ staffs. Another was

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employed at Army Headquarters, in the Intelligence Branch under the Chief of Staff. Although Kitchener thought this officer “socially and personally pleasant,” he was far from impressed by the man’s work: “He has neither the ability, the education, the training, [n]or the experience that would be demanded of a British officer selected for a similar post.” 66 Out of the eight cadets, then, Kitchener felt that only one had proved himself to be a success. Kitchener attributed this to the fact that the man in question did not have a private income. To Kitchener, officers with private incomes, by being financially independent, would not be as meticulous in performing their duties as officers without private incomes. Thus, appointing men with private wealth as officers would lead, in Kitchener's opinion, to diminished military efficiency. This was the main reason he deprecated the employment of the princes as army officers. 67 Lord Minto now instructed Brigadier-General F.H.R. Drummond, the inspector-general of the ISTs, to consult with Cameron and submit a detailed scheme for a special regiment to employ HMNILF officers. 68 Drummond agreed with Cameron that the ICC situation was reaching a crisis. The government’s failure to provide the Indian nobility with suitable military careers was now being discussed by princes, in British messes, and in every large center. Moreover, young Indians visiting England were finding some sympathetic listeners in high places. They returned to India “more convinced than ever that obstacles put in their way are due to local and interested motives on the part of officials in India.” Essentially, Drummond proposed to form a regiment of sillidari (irregular) cavalry, to be officered by ICC graduates with HMNILF commissions. 69 Initially, the higher regimental officers— the commandant, squadron-commanders, the adjutant and quartermaster— were all to be British. Regimental subalterns were to be HMNILF commission holders, who would be required to prove themselves by passing all the appropriate promotion examinations. The regiment itself was to comprise four squadrons, and be composed of Rajputs, Ranghars, Dogras, and Punjabi Muslims. Drummond stressed that much of the scheme’s success depended on the tact, ability and “knowledge of native character” of the first posted British higher officers. Indeed, these officers should ideally possess the same qualities as the British officers appointed to organize the ISTs in 1885. 70 The GoI only responded to Morley’s queries two years later, in 1910. It agreed with Kitchener that the real reason for the Corps’ lack of success lay in the fact that the Corps conferred commissions that were restricted in powers of command as well as employment. Indeed, the Government had recently been assailed by requests from officers commissioned from the ICC for real military duty, either on staffs or attached to line. Like Sir Nripendra, these officers complained that the rules of the ICC had led them to believe that graduating from the ICC would result in their being commissioned in regiments of the Imperial Army as British Officers. 71

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In its dispatch, the GoI proposed Drummond’s scheme, which the then CinC, General Sir Garrett O’Moore Creagh, 72 had adopted as his own. Their proposal made it “ . . . clear that nothing short of regimental employment . . . [would] . . . satisfy the aspirations of educated young men who . . . [sought] . . . a military career,” 73 recommending, therefore, the creation of a special regiment for this purpose, organized along the lines of a non-sillidari cavalry regiment, and it would fall within the purview of the Army in India. This regiment was not to be a totally new addition to the strength of the Indian Army, which the Government felt would be too costly, and, more importantly, would destabilize the ratio between British and Indian troops in India. Rather, the regiment was to be formed through reallocation. The Government proposed that the regiment be formed by the addition of three squadrons to the Viceroy's Bodyguard. Two of these squadrons were to be obtained through reductions in the strengths of the Deoli and Erinpura regiments, and the other squadron through a reduction elsewhere. The special regiment was to have a full complement of higher officers, from secondlieutenant through to lieutenant-colonel, into which Indians with higher commissions were to be introduced in phases. Initially, it was envisaged that six of the nine squadron officers would be Indian. As time went on, more Indians with higher commissions would join and begin to move up through the higher officer ranks of the unit, provided they were fully qualified for advancement under Indian Army Rules. As this process was taking place, the British officer element of the regiment would be progressively transferred out. It was suggested that this new regiment be called the 1st Cavalry Regiment, and that it perform a function similar to the Guards Brigade in the British Army, in that one of its squadrons always be detached to serve as the Viceroy's bodyguard. Regarding commissions, the GoI insisted that ICC cadets be given the same form of commission as that given to British officers of the Indian Army. This was contingent, of course, on the conversion of the ICC into a proper military college, under the supervision of the Military Department in all respects save nomination, which was to remain in the hands of the Viceroy, who was also to select ICC graduates for service with the special regiment. The Government stated that they preferred to defer the question of offering allowances to qualified cadets for whom the ICC was too expensive, until such time as there were many openings for cadets. Calcutta estimated that the scheme would cost between three-and-a-half to five lakh rupees annually, but they maintained that this was a comparatively small price to pay to ameliorate what they saw as a “deficiency in our political and military system.” 74 In London, Lieutenant-General Sir Beauchamp Duff, 75 the India Office’s Military Secretary, believed that the Drummond-Creagh proposal was more a palliative than a real solution. The problem could not be solved, Duff felt,

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simply by segregating Indian gentlemen in a special regiment, which was yet another attempt to avoid discussion of the real issue—conferring commissions upon Indians that were “ . . . similar to those of British officers.” But he did not think the solution was wholesale admission of Indian gentlemen into Indian regiments on the same footing as British officers. Duff believed that doing this would only heighten the racial prejudice that the British officers, and British other ranks, in India felt toward Indians, and would lead to serious problems when they were called upon, as they inevitably would be, to serve under Indian higher officers. 76 It was precisely to circumvent this problem that Duff proposed an alternate plan. Under Duff's scheme, Indians would, in the first instance, be commissioned not in the Indian Army, but in the most prestigious units of the British Army—namely, the Household Cavalry and the Guards Regiment. Of course, the Army Act would have to be amended before this could occur, so that, for the purposes of army commissions, princes and subjects of the “Feudatory Native States” would not be classified as aliens. Duff contended that his scheme would have two advantages: that racial prejudice against Indians would not exist in these units, which were stationed in Britain, and that the posting of Indian princes and gentlemen to these highly regarded units would go a long way toward assuaging their dissatisfaction with the “extra-regimental billets.” Clearly, Duff believed that Indian princes and noblemen were essentially dilettantes, who would be dazzled by prestige. Thereafter, a phased posting process would occur, with Indian QCOs being successively introduced in the rest of the British Army in England, the British Army in India, and finally, into units of the “native” Indian Army. While recognizing that his plan was radical, Duff was convinced that it contained “the germ of success.” And though conceding that there were “obvious” objections to his proposal, such as the danger that young Indian gentlemen might become “denationalized”—that is, lose their “Indianness,” to the point were they would want to court and marry Englishwomen—he insisted that these “risks” had to be faced if the India Office and the GoI were at all serious about offering a real military career to Indian gentlemen. 77 The Political Department's note on the matter, written by its head, F.A. Hirtzel, 78 was negative. Echoing critics of Chesney’s first scheme, Hirtzel criticized Calcutta’s proposal for focusing on the needs of “the gilded youth of India,” while completely ignoring the claims and aspirations of the Indian Officers and the classes they represented. These latter were, in his opinion, “the men who really mattered.” 79 Hirtzel and the Political Committee expressed doubt as to whether there was any place in the British Indian political structure for any systematized integration of Indian princes and their subjects into the fighting strength of the armed forces of the Empire. Indeed, they preferred the ICC dying a natural death. Even though they were in favor of a measure to satisfy the military aspirations of the Indian gentlemen of British

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India, they objected to the raising of a special regiment for this purpose. First, on the basis that the Indian treasury could ill afford this addition to the Indian military establishment and, second, because the very existence of such a differently officered regiment would run counter to the principle of uniformity that was the hallmark of all “modern” armies of the world. The Political Committee also believed that Duff's scheme was rather naïve, and did not take into account the tendency in British society as a whole to lessen the presence of Indians. Hirtzel therefore concluded that the best course would be to do nothing. He thought “no great harm” would be done if the ICC were allowed to wind down naturally. But if the India Secretary did, in fact, think that the ICC was worth saving, Hirtzel suggested that Morley consider it as an integral part of the larger question of whether the principle of giving Indians the same commissions as British officers was now to be conceded. 80 Dunlop Smith, now in London as the political ADC to the India Secretary, diametrically disagreed with Hirtzel’s evaluation, and felt that the ICC could simply not be allowed to die. To permit this would undoubtedly exacerbate the already low opinion that many of the princes had of the Government for not honoring the promise held out to them in the Corps’ draft rules, that its graduates “would be able to take their places in the Imperial Army as British Officers.” Dunlop Smith argued that there was “ . . . no getting over the distinct promise conveyed in these words, whatever may be the interpretation put on the word ‘commission.’” 81 He also took exception to the Political Department’s contention, implicit in Hirtzel’s note, that more information and discussion were needed before action—or inaction—could be taken. He could not see what more information was required, especially as he knew that the GoI’s scheme was not a spur-of-the-moment whim, but one which the Viceroy had been working on for the past four years, and had conferred thoroughly with his military and political advisors, as well as with Ruling Chiefs, before presenting it to the Secretary of State for India. Though acknowledging Duff’s contention that problems would arise regarding the unwillingness of princes and gentlemen of the Rajput or Pathan classes to serve under Mahrattas or Sikhs—an opinion Duff reached after speaking with the Maharaja of Bikaner, who recommended that, if a special regiment were indeed formed, it should be one of Rajput cavalry officered by Rajputs— Dunlop Smith nevertheless thought this intra-Indian prejudice easily surmountable. As evidence, he provided the example of Sir Satyendra Prasanno Sinha. 82 When appointing an Indian to the Viceroy’s Council was being considered, high-ranking Anglo-Indian officials maintained that Ruling Chiefs would never tolerate the idea, because the man would necessarily have to be a Babu. “Yet within three months of his appointment, the Chiefs of Gwalior, Bikaner, and Kotah took the initiative in calling personally on the Indian appointee, Mr. Sinha!” Dunlop Smith therefore thought the granting of higher army commissions to Indians could be sidestepped no longer,

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and he supported the GoI’s scheme as the best method yet devised of effecting it. 83 General Sir Charles Egerton, a senior member of the India Council, thought the Viceroy’s Bodyguard scheme impracticable, since it would offer too few commissions to meet the demand. He agreed with Hirtzel that it would introduce a different organization into the Indian Army alongside the existing one, thereby diminishing the basic unity of organization that was the hallmark of all armies. He did not, however, have any qualms about abolishing the ICC, which had proved a costly failure. Egerton advocated nothing less than making King’s Commissions obtainable to Indians, through the Sandhurst route. 84 Egerton’s ideas on the matter were essentially a refinement of Kitchener’s. While he did not think that the Indian was fitted, either by education or birth, “ . . . to fill the place of even the average British officer,” Egerton recognized the possibility that, alongside the growing Indian demand for a greater share of governmental responsibility, there might exist a desire among “ . . . the younger generation of Native Gentlemen . . . ” for commissions in the Indian Army. According to Egerton, there were two main deficiencies in Kitchener’s scheme: that if indeed Indians were given King’s Commissions in the Indian Army, it would be difficult as well as iniquitous to limit their commissions to junior officer grades; and that in its instructional aspect, it concentrated overwhelmingly on technical training, with little thought to the general education that Egerton deemed essential for officers. This last point was of prime importance to Egerton, for if the integration of Indian higher officers into regimental messes were to occur smoothly, their ability to move with British officers was essential. To accomplish this, he maintained that the Indians selected as candidates for King’s Commissions be “Gentlemen” in the British sense of the word. Above all, this meant that they had to be good fellows, and keen sportsmen. They also had to have chivalrous ideas. Now, the acquisition of these qualities would depend very much on the education prospective cadets had received prior to entering Sandhurst. Though he did not go into details, Egerton believed that the best way of ensuring that Indian cadets acquired these values was by educating them in public schools and universities of the British type. Though he conceded the initial rarity of finding Indian candidates fulfilling his “ . . . somewhat stringent conditions . . . as to education and social qualifications,” Egerton was confident that the demand for such men would inevitably spur the supply. 85 Egerton thought his scheme held four advantages. First, it would not require the formation of special regiments, thus obviating the expenditure that this would involve. Second, by only dealing with Indian gentlemen who wanted to enter the King’s Commissioned ranks, it would not confuse the issue with that of the advancement of Indian Officers. Third, Egerton believed that it would eventually lead to the elimination of two classes, namely the Imperial Cadets and those directly commissioned Indian

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Officers, who were “ . . . the principal sources of the outcry regarding unsatisfied aspirations.” Fourth, the full integration of Indian King’s Commissioned Officers into Indian Army regiments “ . . . would obviate the necessity of putting hard and fast restrictions in the way of advancement to higher ranks and appointments, as contemplated by Lord Kitchener.” 86 As would be expected, Lord Curzon expressed alarm that the abolition of the Corps was being seriously contemplated. To him, the ICC had a very useful role in promoting the allegiance of the Ruling Chiefs to the British Crown. It would be short-sighted, he maintained, “to satisfy the political or civic aspirations of the educated classes of India [no doubt a reference to the Minto-Morley reforms], while abandoning the one serious effort that has been made in recent years to provide a vent for the military aspirations of the titled orders.” 87 Curzon took exception to the GoI’s contention that the ICC had not been popular at any time. He claimed that, in 1903, when the Corps began, there were 36 applications for admission, of which 7 were selected— four of these being Ruling Chiefs. However, he did concede that, as time went on, the average yearly intake dropped by roughly a third. For the first five years (1901–1905), it stood at 9.4, while during 1906–1909, it dropped to 6.8. 88 Curzon dismissed all Calcutta’s reasons for the Corps’ unpopularity. Dehra Dun was not remote; it had been “ . . . specially selected on the advice of political and military authorities . . . as an ideal spot in respect of situation, and surroundings.” 89 Moreover, it was in close proximity to military camps and cantonments, and to the GoI’s summer capital at Simla. Despite ample evidence to the contrary, he could not see why the nature of the HMNILF commissions would cause dissatisfaction. Curzon obstinately clung to the belief that “ . . . the complaint . . . [was] . . . more often an excuse for those who . . . [were] . . . indifferent or hostile to the Corps than . . . due to a bona fide grievance of its members and friends.” The former Viceroy pinpointed two factors preventing the ICC from being an unqualified success. One, quite rightly, was “the unfriendly and . . . actively hostile attitude” of Anglo-Indian military authorities, who “fought tenaciously over the question of commissions,” and who gave “as few facilities as possible for the military employment of commissioned cadets.” Their lack of cooperation manifested itself over the question of the employment of the cadets. The eight commissioned cadets now in military employ was far below the number envisaged when the ICC had begun. At that time, Curzon demonstrated that well over 50 commissioned cadets could be posted to various civil and military staffs and military districts in India. 90 The other had to do with “indispensable” Viceregal patronage and close supervision of the ICC, which was enshrined in rules III and VIII of the Corps. Rule III stipulated that the Corps was to be under the direct surveillance of the Viceroy, who was to take a deep personal interest in the Corps, and himself inspect it periodically. Rule VIII ran: “The selection [of the cadets] will be made personally by the Viceroy in connec-

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tion with the Principals of the Chiefs’ Colleges, with the Local Governments, and with the authorities of the States to which the cadets may belong.” 91 Curzon castigated his successors for not taking as deep a personal interest in the ICC as he had done. He was confident that the prestige of the Corps would soon be restored if the present Viceroy “ . . . made a point of visiting the Corps, talking to all the cadets individually, and interesting himself in their careers, industry and discipline.” 92 Moreover, Curzon had heard that political officers were not committed to the ICC in a positive way, and they had not worked seriously to allay the fears and complaints of the native Chiefs. He echoed the complaint of Captain Taylor, contending that political offices used the Corps as a punitive and threatening tool against idle or recalcitrant Chiefs and their sons, which detrimentally affected the popularity of the Corps among Indian princes and noblemen. Curzon did not think much of Egerton’s idea, which he interpreted as basically turning the ICC into a training ground for Sandhurst. Curzon believed that this would not address the “ . . . great, and . . . laudable reluctance on the part of a great many Indian Chiefs and nobles to send their sons to England and have them anglicised at all.” The need, as Curzon saw it, was to provide for those in the majority, who did not want to go to England. Egerton's suggestion, therefore, was not particularly relevant to this problem. 93 In November 1910, discussion of Indianization was temporarily adjourned, while Baron Hardinge of Penhurst 94 took over the Viceroyalty from Lord Minto. At this time too, the Marquess of Crewe 95 took over from Morley at the India Office. Before leaving for India, Hardinge asked that the India Office defer making a decision on the twin questions of the future of the ICC as well as that of King’s Commissions for Indians until he had had time to thoroughly acquaint himself with the contours of the debate, which included consulting officials in India. 96 The only official Hardinge consulted was Creagh, who took the opportunity to present a plan of his own to solve the vexing problem. Like Cameron, Creagh thought the matter was one whose “time had come.” It was “necessary to provide for the military aspirations of Indians of noble fighting families or clans” as Anglo-India could “no longer justify the opening of all appointments in civil life to Indians, while excluding them, except in subordinate positions, from a military career.” 97 Echoing Crosthwaite, Creagh held that HMNILF commissions, and their extra-regimental postings, were shams, and were recognized as such by the cadets themselves. 98 The CinC believed that ICC cadets had to be given regular commissions in the Indian Army, with no differentiation between the British and Indian King’s Commissions. Only this would eradicate the impression, widely felt on the part of Ruling Chiefs and nobles, that Anglo-India had reneged on promises they had made when instituting the ICC. Creagh was not an “enlightened liberal,” because under the arrangement then obtaining in Indian

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cavalry regiments, qualified British officers reached the rank of lieutenantcolonel after 26 years’ service—in other words, in their mid-forties. Further promotion rested firmly on the basis of selection by Army Headquarters India, which would effectively debar from further promotion any officer it deemed unsuitable. Creagh subscribed to the view, then current among many Britons in India that “Natives” were “played out” in terms of their vigor and mental capacity by the time they reached that age. Since this was the case, he thought that no danger to British dominance of the Indian Army’s officer corps would arise from this practice. Indians, simply, would rarely be selected for promotion to brigadiers’ rank. Creagh stated that his earlier advocacy of the Viceroy’s Bodyguard plan was only because, as the least expensive alternative, it might have had the best chance of winning approval. Personally, he preferred a simpler plan, which involved raising a special cavalry regiment by adding two squadrons to the Deoli and Erinpura detachments. Thus constituted, this regular cavalry regiment would be identical to all other regular cavalry regiments, would be stationed in a cavalry cantonment, and would be subject to all the rules and conditions which applied to regular cavalry regiments. These last two conditions had to be scrupulously adhered to—otherwise it would “be believed that [the regiment was] . . . not intended for war service, and but a sham.” 99 Creagh argued that the ICC be retained as the training institution for Indian candidates for commissions. To do this, the ICC had to undergo fundamental reform. First, it had to be brought under the jurisdiction of the CinC, who would also be responsible for cadet selection. This would end Simla’s animosity toward the Corps, of which Curzon had so bitterly complained. Second, the Corps itself was to be closely modeled on Sandhurst. After entering it between the ages of 16 and 18, cadets intent upon a military career would, after two years’ study, take a qualifying examination. If they passed this, they would do a further years’ study, at the end of which they would take the passing-out examination, identical to the passing-out examination at Sandhurst. Third, provision was also to be made for cadets who wanted to serve in the Imperial Service contingents of their own states. Fourth, the ICC’s cost and ceremonial aspects had to be minimized. Fifth, the Viceroy would still have a role, but this would be a much diminished, ceremonial, one. Finally, he proposed that cadet selection change from focusing on the princely and noble Indian to Indian gentlemen, “ . . . the best men, men of undoubted birth and of the fighting class, honorable young men and firm in their religion and traditions.” 100 To Hardinge, Creagh’s focus on “Native Gentlemen” would cause problems, because the term was itself quite imprecise and amorphous. If one Punjabi Malik was a gentleman, asked Hardinge, was it correct to presume that they all were, even though their individual wealth and social position varied greatly? And would all Maliks, whether rich or poor, be willing to

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serve with one another in a regimental setting? Hardinge feared the very imprecision of the term “Gentleman” would lead many men, hitherto contented to serve as Indian Officers, to claim themselves as gentlemen, and demand entry into the ICC leading inevitably to the King’s Commission. When rebuffed, these men would form a nucleus for disaffection, something the Raj could ill afford, especially in its military forces. 101 In responding, Creagh explained his desire to focus on “Native Gentlemen” as opposed to the princes and noblemen was because he believed that not many of the latter would have the single-mindedness to pursue a military career. Admitting them into the Army as officers would therefore diminish its efficiency. “Native Gentlemen,” on the other hand, would want to be successful in their military careers. Provided they had been properly selected, Creagh was confident that they would, in time, become efficient regimental officers. Creagh conceded the difficulty of arriving at a precise definition of the term “Gentleman,” but stated that the government should not make public its intention to confine commissions to such men. Officials would still have considerable leeway in determining who was a gentleman, and who was not. Creagh also urged that selection be confined to large landowners among the Maliks. Similarly, the selection process would be safeguarded from Indian Officers who claimed gentlemanly status by vesting responsibility for this firmly with the CinC. 102 Hardinge thought the matter had reached the stage where the Indian aristocracy would not be satisfied with anything less than “ . . . the grant of commissions in the real Native Army,” 103 and that Creagh’s plan was the least objectionable way of effecting this. Hardinge then wrote to Crewe, reiterating that the ICC’s declining popularity was primarily caused by the Ruling Chiefs’ realization that a cadetship would not lead to substantive rank. However, instead of taking the radical measure of focusing instead on “Indian gentlemen,” as Creagh had advocated, Hardinge proposed making sons of princes eligible for King’s Commissions, albeit only in “Native” regiments of the Indian Army. This would be advantageous. Firstly, it would prove both Calcutta’s and London’s sincerity in redressing the failure of the ICC to live up to its initial promise. Secondly, it would be heartily welcomed by the Ruling Chiefs, binding them further as loyal subjects of the Imperial crown. Thirdly, it would silence criticism, then widespread, that, by not fulfilling promises made, the Indian Government was showing weakness by distrusting its Indian subjects. To Hardinge, it was of the utmost importance that the appearance of weakness not attach itself to the Indian Empire, for, if this occurred, the loyalty of Indians, and most notably, that of the princes, would begin to waver. Fourthly, Hardinge believed the risks involved in initiating the scheme would be negligible because, even if King’s Commissions were conferred upon selected scions of the Indian nobility, he believed that very few, even of these men, would ever reach ranks higher than that of

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Captain. “It is not in the nature of the young Princes . . . to put up for an indefinite period with stern discipline, with examinations for promotion, and with the dullness of a military station.” 104 Calcutta was definitely not prepared to make a career as a King’s Commissioned officer more attractive to young Indian princes. 105 At the War Office, General William Nicholson, the Chief of the Imperial General Staff, took a dim view of the India Office plan. Echoing the 1880s views of Roberts and his ilk, he wrote “[t]he Indian Army is contented and loyal because all its superior officers are British.” 106 A large part of this contentment and loyalty was due to the paternal impartiality of the British officer toward the Indian non-commissioned officers and other ranks. This, Nicholson asserted, was “ . . . the surest safeguard against the tyranny and favouritism . . . ” that he felt Indian higher officers would exhibit. Nicholson was unsure whether Section 95 of the Army Act, which restricted the granting of King’s Commissions to only British subjects, would allow the commissioning of subjects of the princely states, and if they were allowed, if they could hold rank in the regular army above that of a warrant officer or an NCO. Secondly, Nicholson brought up the old powers-of-command-overBritish-officers question which would “ . . . cause great uneasiness and indignation” among British officers. Thirdly, Nicholson brought up the “social difficulties” question. Indian higher officers would have to associate with British officers and their wives. Nicholson argued that there was “ . . . a strong probability of disagreeable incidents occurring and of racial feelings being aroused,” as a result of Indian higher officers mixing freely with English women, while their own wives and daughters were kept in purdah. Fourthly, he claimed that problems would arise out of the then current vogue for a united imperial defense, which saw the establishment of the Committee of Imperial Defence, itself a product of the post–Boer War shake-up of British imperial/strategic policy. 107 As this would necessarily involve the white dominions—Canada, Australia, New Zealand, and South Africa—and India, and possibly lead to combined military operations, Nicholson was sure that officers of the dominions would bridle at even the slightest possibility of being commanded by an Indian. 108 Nationalist India, already aware of the Corps’ shortcomings, stepped up its critiques. Gokhale declared in 1907 that, in regard to the ICC, Calcutta had irresponsibly raised hopes that it had no intention of fulfilling. 109 Not to be outdone, the All-India Muslim League advocated the posting of ICC graduates as officers of the Indian Army. 110 The twenty-fourth session of the Indian National Congress, held at Lahore in 1909, passed a resolution to protest “ . . . the continued exclusion of the children of the soil from higher military careers.” This resolution also revived the demand that military colleges be established in India, so that “ . . . Indians may receive the training necessary to qualify them for His Majesty's Commission in the Army.” 111

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Senathi Raja, a Madras delegate, tabled the resolution, urging Congress to accept it on two grounds. The first of these was that the measure under consideration was “ . . . just, right, and equitable.” Raja argued, much like Henry Lawrence in the 1840s had, that it was hard to believe that, in a country of 300 million, there was no one deemed qualified to undertake a military career as an officer. He contended that Indians were not bereft of military talent, something that was not lost on the Mughals, who, even though they were Muslim, recruited Hindus into their army, even up to and including the rank of general, As Indians were now making their way up the ladder of the civil administration, “ . . . [a]s accountants, as Legislative officers, as Engineers, as Doctors,” so too should they be allowed into the higher military ranks. Raja alluded to the imperial dimension. A moderate in a moderate-dominated Congress, Raja believed—as he was sure all his colleagues did too—that the future and safety of India was intimately tied to that of Britain itself. But the safety of Britain was, at that time, being threatened by the rise of Germany as an economic and military power with imperial ambitions of its own. 112 On a recent trip to England, it seemed to Raja that, “[t]here was a good deal of general panic all over England . . . The newspapers and reviews were full of . . . [it] and experts like Lord Roberts and others went about the country making speeches and warning people that the Army was insufficient to meet the demands of the country in the present condition.” 113 It seemed that war with Germany was inevitable, and that, in such a conflict, India would be called upon to assist the British war effort. But Raja contended that India could not render full assistance unless Indians were trained at military colleges for military duties. 114 Supporting the resolution was Sirdar Gurmukh Singh, a Sikh of “good martial stock” from the Punjab. An army veteran, the Sirdar opined that, while, under English justice, it was right to allow Indians to be appointed as higher military officers, “English pride” would not allow it. Gurmukh Singh argued that it was this prejudice alone, and not some “scientific” reason, that prevented the admission of Indians into the higher cadres of the Army. “They do not wish that a European may ever serve as a subordinate to an Indian, which must necessarily happen if Indians are allowed a higher career in the Indian Army.” He was confident that if Indians were allowed to become officers, they would have “ . . . an intelligent and substantial interest . . . ” in the affairs of their own country, which could only strengthen the stability of British rule in India. In this connection, Gurmukh Singh brought up an interesting point regarding education and the Indian Army. When he enlisted in a Sikh regiment of the Army in 1882, after having trained as a schoolmaster, he did not aspire to anything greater than becoming an Indian Officer, but was repeatedly passed over for promotion. When he asked his commanding officer why this was so, he was told that the Indian Army discouraged the promotion of educated men to the Indian Officer grade, even if, like Gur-

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mukh Singh, they happened to be of the martial races. Galling as it was to hear this, had it been an isolated incident, Gurmukh Singh might have overlooked it, but the issue of education for sons of sons of Indian Officers and other ranks came up again in 1897, in connection with the erection of a monument to honor a detachment of one Indian Officer and twenty other ranks who had died defending an isolated Northwest frontier outpost. According to Gurmukh Singh, the money collected for this was far in excess of the amount needed for one monument, and Gurmukh Singh thought that the surplus funds could be used to educate sons of Indian Officers and sepoys. When he approached his commanding officer, his idea was rejected, in no uncertain terms, because the Indian Army wanted men “ . . . directly from the plough.” 115 Also applying pressure were nationalist Indians in England, such as the All-India Muslim League’s London Committee, formed by Syed Amir Ali in May 1908. Ali wrote a detailed letter on the subject to the India Office in January 1911. In keeping with the conservative and aristocratic character of the Muslim League at that time, it couched its appeal on the issue by stating that the question “ . . . concern[ed] all races and communities . . . [in India] . . . inheriting traditions of martial valour.” 116 To buttress its argument, Ali cited the work of the Times (of London) journalist, Valentine Chirol, who, in his 1910 book Indian Unrest, argued that the landed aristocracy and gentry were the only classes in India that had both the martial qualities and the strong loyalty to the Crown necessary to become King’s commissioned officers. 117 Ali’s letter also contended that British service newspapers, such as Broad Arrow, 118 which would not “ . . . make light of the advantages of British leadership of Indian troops,” supported Indianization in its November 27, 1909, issue: Do not . . . Indian records, from the early days of Indian rule, down to those of the consolidation of the British Raj teem with instances of great results achieved under native leadership; of romantic and extraordinary exploits performed by native soldiers merely led, not dry-nursed, by one or two white men; of admirable services carried out under circumstances of special danger and difficulty by native officers, and even native non-commissioned officers, suddenly deprived of British leadership? May it not indeed possibly be the case that the constant reiteration of this shibboleth, emphasised as it is by the eternal presence of a plethora of British officers in native regiments, has itself tended to obscure the prospects and position of the native officer, and has withheld from him all opportunity of proving himself fitted for a position of greater responsibility than to which he has been relegated by long custom. 119

Ali took this passage to mean that what was being advocated was the entry of Indians into the higher commissioned ranks of the Indian Army. However, had he been acquainted with military affairs, he would have known that the

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desire to give Indian Officers more responsibility did not necessarily mean raising their status to that of British officers. Morley and Lord Crewe, his successor as India Secretary from November 1910, carefully considered these views and Calcutta’s proposal, focusing on the question of whether ICC graduates were satisfied with their employment opportunities and actual postings in the years since graduation. If this indeed were not the case, then the issue became one of devising an alternative that would satisfy the career aspirations of ICC graduates. The notion of solving the problem simply by increasing the rate at which ICC graduates were granted HMNILF commissions was also briefly considered. This was rejected, however, because it evaded the basic issue that the Indian Government’s scheme brought to the fore once more, namely, the granting to Indians of full King’s Commissions, equal in all respects to those conferred upon British officers. 120 In March 1911, Morley, who briefly re-occupied the India Secretaryship from March to May of that year, decided to appoint a six-man special committee to advise the Secretary of State on responses to the GoI's proposal. The committee was chaired by Sir David Barr, and its membership consisted of those at the India Office who had interested themselves in the question of Indianization: Egerton, Sir Mirza Ali Abbas Baig, Duff, Hirtzel, and Dunlop Smith. 121 This committee is significant in that it was the first time an India Secretary had appointed a committee to specifically look into the question of higher commissions for Indians. But the committee's impact was undercut by Morley's use of the word “advise,” which meant that he would not be constrained to accept any of its recommendations. Ultimately, this committee's recommendations were very conservative and subtly obstructionist in nature. Moreover, there was not a lot of agreement among the committee members themselves; though all signed the report, four—Baig, Duff, Dunlop Smith, and Hirtzel—had sufficient differences with parts of the report to write separate notes. Separate notes were written by Baig and Dunlop Smith, while Duff and Hirtzel collaborated on one note. 122 Close scrutiny reveals that the Committee’s statement, in its July 24, 1911, report, that it had examined all correspondence, reports, and memoranda on the Corps issued thus far was not entirely true. While it took into consideration the views of the London Committee of the Moslem League, it totally ignored Naoroji’s representation, Gokhale’s questions in the council chamber, and the resolutions of the Indian National Congress on the subject. This was indicative of a general policy in both Calcutta and London to lend support to the infant Moslem League—it was only four years old in 1911—to counter the growing “sedition” of the Hindu-dominated Congress. It was also indicative of the fact that the only “Native” document on the subject which the Committee looked at—the letter from the London All-India Muslim League—echoed the biases of the committee members. These biases were

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reflected in three of the four points agreed upon by the committee members before they began deliberating. Firstly, the peoples of India could be divided into “martial” and “non-martial races”; secondly, that the “martial races” had always provided the manpower pool for the Indian Army, and the Presidency Armies that preceded it; and thirdly, that the desire among the north Indian princes and Chiefs for higher military employment was a legitimate aspiration. This aspiration, it was agreed, had not been satisfied by the ICC and the resultant HMNILF commissions. Indeed, the committee contended that this constituted a clear breach of the promise made to the Indian princes in 1901, that, if they successfully completed the ICC course, they would be eligible to become British officers in the Imperial Army. Echoing George Hamilton, the Committee declared it imperative that the Crown recognized the loyalty and devotion of the Indian aristocracy by admitting its members into the “military service of the Empire . . . [on] . . . absolute equality of rank, power, and employment with British officers of that service.” 123 At its first meeting at the India Office on April 24, 1911, the Committee agreed on a set of preliminary resolutions which was to form the basis of any recommendations that they might make to the India Secretary. The general thrust of these resolutions was that Indians of both British and princely India, of high birth, good character, and having education, whose families had military traditions, “should be eligible for commissions in His Majesty’s Army, giving the same powers of command which are now granted to British officers—the selection of candidates being vested in the Commander-inChief, subject to the approval of the Viceroy in every case.” With respect to the problem of the eligibility of subjects of the Native states, the Special Committee recommended that Section 95 of the Army Act be changed to permit this. 124 They deemed it essential for Indian cadets to attend and graduate from Sandhurst. Furthermore, steps had to be taken to ensure that the real bedrock of the Indian Army’s command structure—Indian Officers—did not become disaffected as a result of thinking that, in granting King’s Commissions exclusively to Indian gentlemen, the GoI was passing it over, and not taking into account the long service and vital role performed by Indian Officers. Therefore, simultaneous with any initiative for the granting of King’s Commissions to Indian gentlemen, the Committee recommended the implementation of measures aimed at improving the position of the Indian Officer class, both during their service careers and most especially after their retirement. Regarding the preliminary education and character formation of Indian gentlemen bent on a military career, the committee resolved that the ICC would continue—albeit in a modified role. Instead of leading to HMNILF commissions, the Committee envisioned the ICC as a preparatory school for scions of the Indian aristocracy, both in terms of general education and military training, either for service in the ISTs, or for Sandhurst-entry. 125

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Indians, preferably from one of the Chiefs’ Colleges, would be nominated to the ICC when they were between the ages of fourteen and fifteen. The Special Committee criticized Calcutta’s plan on three counts. They argued that the scheme, which would only require fourteen or fifteen Indian KCOs, was too small a number to fully satisfy Indian aspirations. The Committee also felt that the formation of any new regiments would place an unacceptable burden upon the Indian exchequer, and that, alternatively, if two existing line regiments were converted to the special regiment system, the Indian Army’s efficiency would be unacceptably impaired. But the Committee’s main objection centered around the perception that the GoI’s scheme, by funnelling Indian King’s Commissioned Officers into only two regiments, would completely nullify what it saw as the purpose of giving Indians King’s Commissions in the first place, which was to place Indians in a position where, if the circumstance arose, they could exercise command over British officers junior to them, and also over British other ranks, just like their British counterparts. The significance of this cannot be overstated, as it was the first time in the Indianization debate that an official AngloIndian body contemplated Indians commanding Britons. Additionally, the committee believed that posting Indian King’s Commissioned officers to certain specified units would lay both Calcutta and London open to Indian nationalist accusations of segregation and racial discrimination. The Special Committee contended that the Indian Government’s scheme, by introducing the principle of tacit segregation, “ . . . would accentuate the appearance of racial inferiority which it . . . intended to remove.” 126 The Committee also determined that, for the purpose of officer commissions, the aristocracy of the Indian fighting races could be divided into three categories. The first class consisted of the wealthy aristocracy, who were not so much interested in a military career as they were in the “ . . . definite admission of equality with Englishmen . . . ” that they hoped a King’s Commission would confer. 127 The second class comprised the well-born but poorer aristocracy, whom the Committee thought would gladly look upon the Army as a career, but whose “ . . . pride of race would prevent them from entering it on any other terms than those of equality with their English brother officers.” The third category consisted of the still poorer and lesswell-born, who actively sought military careers, but “ . . . to whom the question of equality with Englishmen is a secondary consideration.” In the Committee’s opinion, many men of this class had served, and were presently serving, in Indian cavalry regiments, content to enlist as sowars and work themselves up to the Indian Officer ranks. More recently, men of this class had been commissioned directly into the Indian Officer ranks as Jemadars, and had attained Risaldar and Risaldar-Major rank. To have further promotion barred, while still young, was a disappointment and a source of discontent among these men. 128

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This much was agreed upon by the committee members. The real divergence of opinion arose in connection with the method of overcoming what was seen as the main problem that could not be avoided when Indians were granted the King’s Commission—the attitude of British officers and other ranks. Essentially, it was one “ . . . of accustoming British officers and soldiers to accept and obey his orders not merely in time of peace, but on active service in matters of life and death.” Unless this could be ensured, the committee members thought it inevitable that any plan to grant Indian gentlemen the King’s Commission would be doomed to failure and threaten military efficiency. 129 Duff and Hirtzel sought to overcome the British officers’ racial prejudice by exploiting their regard for prestige. This would be effected by a four-stage schedule for posting Indian KCOs. In the first stage, they would be posted to only serve with the Guards and Household Cavalry Regiments, the oldest and most prestigious units in the British Home Army. 130 In doing this, a message would be sent out to both British officers and other ranks that: “Now that Indian KCOs have been accepted into the most prestigious regiments of the British Army, you have no choice but to accept them into your own, lessprestigious units!” Thereafter, the remaining three stages would see Indian KCOs posted to regiments of the British Army stationed in England, then to British Army units in India, and finally to Indian Army units. The general tone of Duff and Hirtzel’s plan was, as they themselves admitted, “slow and tentative.” They did not envision the posting of more than two Indian KCOs per annum to the Household Cavalry and the Guards. Moreover, for the plan to work, they insisted that the Indians posted be of the highest of the three categories into which the Committee had divided the aristocracy of the Indian fighting races. 131 While conceding that the Duff and Hirtzel plan might prove effective in getting British officers to accept Indian KCOs, Egerton, Barr, and Dunlop Smith maintained that it would not meet the aspirations of a large majority of the possible candidates, who belonged to the lower two classes of the Indian aristocracy. Their aspirations would best be met by commissions in the Indian Army. Moreover, the committee members opposed to the Duff and Hirtzel plan recommended that, if full equality between British and Indian candidates was to be maintained, the latter should be allowed the same choices as the former, namely, of service in either the British or the Indian Army. Indian KCOs who opted for the Indian Army would have to serve a probationary attachment with a British regiment and would have to pass various tests and examinations prescribed by that Army—the point here being that these were the same qualifications required of British officers who joined the Indian service. 132 For all the decidedly liberal and progressive preliminary recommendations of the Special Committee, its final conclusions were disappointingly

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naïve and prevaricatory. Instead of recommending decisive steps to grant the King’s Commission to those Indians who qualified for it, the Committee proposed that Calcutta and Simla re-examine the subject totally from square one. It advocated that the principle of allowing Indians into the higher officer cadre should, be examined on its own merits, “ . . . apart from all extraneous considerations.” It maintained that the sole aim of any scheme, formulated to give life to the principle, should be to obtain the best possible results, and should not be subordinated to any tactical considerations aimed at making it acceptable to either the War Office or the India Office. Finally, the Committee was convinced that neither the GoI nor the Viceroy were fully alive to the far-reaching consequences of their proposal. If indeed they had been, opined the Committee, they would have devoted an entirely separate dispatch to their Indianization proposal, instead of including it as part of a dispatch primarily concerned with the future of the ICC. 133 While the general tone of the first of the committee’s conclusions seems laudable, it was also highly unrealistic. The Indian Army did not exist in a vacuum. It was an institution of the British Empire in India, and depended on Indians for the majority of its manpower. The continuance of this military collaboration required concessions in the form of incentives. Political India too, through the Indian press, the Indian National Congress, and the Muslim League, had taken the Indianization issue to heart. It is thus somewhat puzzling that the Committee thought “extraneous considerations” should not impinge on any final decision to grant Indians the King’s Commission. Baffling too, is the Committee’s second conclusion. Here again, the vacuum argument is valid. As an institution of British India, the Indian Army was subordinated directly to the Indian Government and, through this, was responsible to the India Office. It was also indirectly subordinate to the War Office. Moreover, since the War Office was officially in charge of both the training and posting of King’s Commissioned officers, it would have been pure folly to expect an Indianization scheme not to have any War Office input. Surely, Egerton and Barr, who agreed with the Committee’s conclusions without reservation, would have known this. Crewe had especially harsh words for this conclusion: “[W]e have to remember that, both as regards commissions to Sandhurst and the grant of commissions in the British Army, we are helpless in the hands of the military authorities here, who are unlikely to run counter to a powerful current of feeling in the service in order to gratify us.” 134 Baig expressed frustration with the Committee’s third conclusion, quite understandably arguing in a separate dissenting note that reconsideration would only “ . . . revive the interminable controversies which have raged around the question and thus to delay, perhaps indefinitely, the solution of a problem which has engaged the attention of British administrators ever since 1844.” He thought that following this course world serve no

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practical purpose, especially when sufficient material was already at the Secretary of State’s disposal for him to make a decision. 135 Dunlop Smith was even more critical of the Committee’s conclusions. He viewed the Indian Government’s special regiment scheme as the safest and most practicable way—at least initially—to begin granting Indians King’s Commissions. Its implementation was of the utmost importance if the Committee’s stated desire to accustom British Indian Army officers to the change was to be carried out in any meaningful way. Furthermore, instigating something along the lines of what Hirtzel and Duff had proposed would, in Dunlop Smith’s opinion, be resented by Indians. Dunlop Smith could also not agree with the Committee report’s contention that the GoI and the Viceroy had not fully considered the implications of initiating an Indianization policy. “I know from my own experience,” he declared, “ . . . that the Government of India and the Viceroy have been for some years fully alive to the consequences of their proposals.” 136 It is clear that the Special Committee’s main purpose was to deflect any forward movement on the Indianization issue. It sought to do so by two means: the imposition of “high-minded” and ultimately unattainable constraints on any future Indianization proposal, and by recommending the reconsideration of the whole issue, which would inevitably waste a lot of time. Crewe was particularly irked by the lack of agreement among the committee members. He was worried that all the blame for the rejection of the special regiment scheme—which both the Minto and Hardinge administrations had pressed for—would fall squarely on the shoulders of the India Office, unless a counterproposal could be made. But, as mentioned earlier, Crewe felt that the input of the War Office was essential if any India Office counterproposal was to meet with success. 137 Accordingly, in September 1911, the India Office requested the War Office for an opinion about higher commissions for Indians. The War Office replied within two weeks, presenting the India Office with a plan that was remarkably similar to that which had been proposed by Duff and Hirtzel when they had been members of the India Office's Special Committee—with one fundamental difference that eventually proved to be a major obstacle. Essentially, the War Office intimated to Crewe that it would be “ . . . prepared to grant commissions in British regiments serving in England to a small number of specially nominated Indians who pass through Sandhurst.” After a thorough discussion of this initiative with his council, Crewe concluded that there was no way of getting around the War Office condition that training at Sandhurst be an “indispensable qualification” for Indians desiring to obtain the King’s Commission, which entailed powers of command over British officers and troops. Crewe telegraphed details of the War Office proposal and the India Office decision regarding Sandhurst training to Hardinge in mid-September. In this missive, Crewe sought to impress upon the GoI that whatever scheme it came up with, it had to take into account the

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essential prerequisite of the Sandhurst course. Alternatively, the India Secretary suggested that the Indian Government might want to study the matter further, in accordance with the recommendations of the Special Committee, although Crewe personally favored the special regiment scheme that Calcutta had initially proposed. 138 In India, Hardinge’s military secretary, Lieutenant-Colonel F. A. Maxwell, had serious misgivings about the War Office proposal. He felt that the Sandhurst prerequisite would have the practical effect of limiting the plan’s appeal to sons of only the wealthiest and the most Westernized Ruling Chiefs, ignoring the claims of the large majority of the Indian gentlemanly classes. Additionally, Maxwell saw the appointment of Indian King’s Commissioned officers as problematic. This was because he feared that, if they were appointed to ordinary British regiments—as opposed to elite formations, such as the Household Troops—they would be liable for service in India. The War Office, considering its stipulation that Indian KCOs not serve in India, would then have to transfer the Indian KCOs to other British regiments, the very idea of which the Indian Government thought undesirable. Were the War Office proposal accepted, Maxwell suggested that “ . . . it should be on the understanding that it applies to the sons or near relatives of Ruling Chiefs, specially selected by the Viceroy, and that Commissions are given in the Guards only.” 139 Maxwell opined that the Sandhurst requirement, while acceptable for the sons of Ruling Chiefs, would defeat the GoI’s purpose, which was to offer a “boon” to the sons and close relations of lesser Chiefs as well. He held that the lesser Chiefs would be reluctant to send their sons to Sandhurst, not only due to the expense involved, but also because of their particular religious beliefs and prejudices. Creagh agreed with Maxwell that the idea of commissioning Indians in British regiments would not appeal to the vast majority of the class of Indian that the Indian Government was concerned about. 140 Hardinge replied to Crewe on September 21, 1911, and confirmed that neither he nor Creagh were in favor of the War Office proposal. Firstly, Hardinge felt that the plan would only appeal to a very small class of Indians, who, in any case, were undesirable from the point of view of military employment because of their Westernized attitudes and because they were not from “martial races.” Hardinge was also critical of the Sandhurst requirement. Here he amplified Maxwell's point, writing that the GoI wholly disapproved of training in England, because “ . . . parents of the youths for whom the boon is required would, from prejudice or expense, refuse to send their sons to Sandhurst, where they would have no opportunities for religious observances, and would be at a loose end during the vacations.” “Loose ends,” a euphemism for “idle hands,” were deprecated because everyone “knew,” that they constituted “the devil’s workshop.” The implication could not have been any clearer: Indian youths at loose ends in the UK would get

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up to mischief, which would cause both London and Calcutta no end of embarrassment. Having thus rejected the War Office proposal, Hardinge reiterated the main features of the GoI plan: to select candidates from the Chiefs’ Colleges; to put these through a two-to-three-year training course, either at the ICC or at some other military training college in India; and to post these cadets to a special regiment of the Indian Army after they had gained their King’s Commissions by passing the Sandhurst final examinations, which, for them, would be administered in India. 141 Upon receiving this, Crewe discussed the matter in considerable detail with George V at Balmoral. The King disliked the Household Cavalry idea. Essentially he was prepared to support the admission of Indian KCOs to British regiments in England but only as subalterns, and for a limited probationary period, after which they would be posted to regiments of the Indian Army. In view of the wide divergence of opinion on the matter, the King suggested that a final decision be postponed until they all met in India that December to celebrate the Coronation Durbar. The India Secretary agreed with this course of action, and informed Hardinge of it. This meeting—really an informal conference—took place at Government House, Calcutta, on January 3, 1912. In attendance were Hardinge, Crewe (who was accompanying the Royal entourage during the Durbar), Creagh, General Sir Horace SmithDorrien 142 representing the War Office, and Sir Henry McMahon, the Foreign Department Secretary. Also present were: Dunlop Smith, F. Lucas, the India Secretary's private secretary, and Lieutenant-Colonel Maxwell. 143 After making some preliminary remarks Hardinge gave the floor to Smith-Dorrien. The General began by pointing out what he saw as a crucial error in the Indian Government’s argument. This was that, contrary to the views of Indian officials that Curzon’s conception of the ICC held out the eventual promise of King’s Commissions for Indians, the ICC was only designed to grant commissions in the HMNILF. Smith-Dorrien then proceeded to talk about the ways that granting Indians King’s Commissions would affect the Army itself. He opined that British officers would heartily resent the idea, because they would feel that their prestige as members of the “white” race would be diminished by the fact of their having to take orders from “natives.” While conceding that in the civil departments in India, “white” Britons were already working in positions subordinate to Indians, he maintained that “ . . . there, subservience to them is not as noticeable as it would be out on the open parade ground.” 144 Allowing Indian gentlemen King’s Commissions would cause resentment among Indian Officers, an ever-greater number of whom had sufficient education and were young enough so as not to make their candidature not so far-fetched. These men would not be bought off by improved retirement benefits, as the India Office’s Special Committee had thought. Smith-Dorrien also brought to the attention of the conference the impact that granting King’s Commissions to

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Indians would have on colonial contingents. In the event that these colonial units were brigaded with Indian Army units, the officers of the latter, by virtue of holding the King’s Commission, would be senior to the officers of the colonial contingents, and thus would have powers of command over them. “How,” Smith-Dorrien asked the conference, “could we expect . . . [colonial troops] . . . willingly to come to our assistance with the risk of having to accept orders from natives of India?” Finally, Smith-Dorrien contended that both discipline of, and the recruiting into, the Indian Army would be adversely affected if Indian rank and file saw their British counterparts receiving orders from Indian KCOs. Smith-Dorrien then proceeded to outline the reasons for the War Office’s opposition to the special regiment scheme. Indian opinion would not be satisfied by the creation of separate corps for Indian KCOs; the creation of an all-Indian corps would be a liability and not an asset from the point of view of military efficiency, since it was common knowledge that Indians placed in command roles would not be as efficient as their British counterparts; and that numerous difficulties would be raised in the field stations where the special regiments would be posted, especially pertaining to command questions vis-à-vis British troops. Smith-Dorrien contended that, if there was no way to avoid their creation, the special regiments for Indian KCOs should be formed as a Corps D’Elite within the ISTs. This appealed to him because it would sidestep the problematic issues connected with powers of command. Simply put, situating the special regiments in the ISTs would mean that their officers would have no powers of command over British officers and troops. By advocating this, Smith-Dorrien seemed to be ignorant of the fact that Indian opinion was agitating for nothing less than full King’s Commissions for Indians, and was becoming increasingly impatient with official prevarication of the kind he was practicing. 145 In fact, a few days earlier, Indianization had been a discussion topic at the twenty-sixth session of the Indian National Congress, at Calcutta. Seizing the opportunity of petitioning the King-Emperor while he was in India, Congress passed a resolution to the effect that the session was, “ . . . of the opinion that the injustice of keeping the higher ranks of the Army closed against the people of this country should remain no longer unredressed . . . and expresses its earnest hope that the general expectation of the country that, before . . . the King-Emperor leaves the shores of India, a more liberal policy under which commissions in the Army will be granted to selected Indians will be announced, will not be disappointed.” 146 In seconding this resolution, Mr. G. Sarma, from the United Provinces, pointed out the urgency of doing something in this regard, because of the disappointment felt by Rajput sirdars and princes that the ICC did not result in regular commissions with substantive duties in the Indian Army. The old and oft-heard educational argument against giving Indians commissions did not, in Sarma’s opinion, hold water

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anymore. With the founding of the Chief's schools, which were turning out ever-increasing numbers of aristocratic Indian youth, “ . . . the Rajput Sirdars, the Mahratta Chiefs, the Chiefs of the Punjab as well as the sons of the Sirdars and noblemen of the other provinces, and the sons of the military classes of India, have now been sufficiently educated to have this aspiration.” Moreover, Sarma warned that not satisfying “this laudable and legitimate aspiration” could lead to the rise of princely discontent. Apart from the inherent justice of granting Indians the King’s Commission, Sarma argued that it would also be advantageous from the economic point of view. Referring to what had, by this time, become a constant Congress demand—that the Indian Government reduce its military expenditure—Sarma pointed out that one way this could be achieved was by the replacement of the expensive British King’s Commissioned officers with the cheaper Indian King’s Commissioned officers. The British, opined Sarma, could thus solve two problems: they could satisfy Indian military aspirations and save money at the same time. Also, this would undoubtedly earn them a measure of Indian goodwill. 147 Predictably, such opinions, emanating as they did from the “seditious” Congress, were not deemed worthy of consideration by any of the conference participants. Smith-Dorrien reiterated the War Office view that if indeed a decision was made to grant Indians King’s Commissions on par with those given to British officers, Indian KCOs, after graduating from Sandhurst, should be posted only to special regiments of the British Army not liable for service in India. Moreover, he was directed by his superiors at the War Office to stipulate certain conditions that were to govern the selection of Indian candidates for Sandhurst training. A board, consisting of the CinC and senior Indian Army officers, was to be set up in India to select candidates; that this board consult regularly with political officers and Ruling Chiefs regarding youths applying for nomination to Sandhurst; and that, in nominating candidates, special attention be given to those with good breeding and the personality required to become good officers. 148 While the Anglo-Indian officials agreed with Smith-Dorrien and the War Office that only granting Indians King’s Commissions would remove the source of the grievance, they thought that any benefit to which this would give rise would be nullified by the Sandhurst-training requirement, which rendered “ . . . the scheme inoperative for the majority of the class for whom this boon . . . [was] . . . contemplated” as most of them “ . . . will not on religious or other grounds allow their sons to be educated in England.” When further discussions revealed that neither side was willing to meet the other half-way by proposing a compromise solution, a general consensus grew that the matter be allowed to drop. All those present thought that this could be easily done, since the demand for higher commissions did not emanate from

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the Ruling Chiefs, and therefore could, “ . . . with political safety be ignored.” 149 A mere two months later, the matter was reopened, this time by General Sir Edmund Barrow, 150 commander of the Southern Army. Barrow wrote to Creagh that three HMNILF officers in his command—Lieutenants Aga Casim Shah, Amar Singh, and Bala Saheb Daphlé—were unsatisfied with their duties, or lack thereof. Barrow thought that since all three of these officers were educationally, professionally, and socially well-suited for the King’s Commission, why not try them out as KCOs in Indian regiments? The question of Indian KCOs could not be forever postponed, and Barrow reasoned that it would be better to start the experiment now, when the right material for it was readily at hand. 151 Creagh instructed Brigadier Peyton, his Military Secretary, to send Barrow’s letter to Hardinge for perusal, as it sought to reopen the Indianization question, something which the Viceroy, after the informal conference of a short time before, might not have particularly wanted. Peyton, in his letter to Maxwell, stated that there seemed to be some truth to Barrow’s claim that HMNILF officers were becoming discontented. He related how, just the other day, Malik Mumtaz Muhammed Khan had spoken to him about his future prospects. Indeed, during this conversation, Malik had become quite agitated and despondent, and had talked of quitting his commission. Hardinge’s reply was swift and decisive. He informed Barrow that, as the matter had been fully discussed and decided upon at the Calcutta conference, there was nothing he could do for the HMNILF officers in Barrow’s command. 152 Two years later, Barrow, who had now assumed the Military Secretaryship at the India Office, wrote a detailed memo on Indianization. He sought to emphasize the fact that the whole issue was becoming more political and, therefore, worthy of notice by the India Office. The increasing politicization of Indianization was brought home to Barrow a short while before, when he was paid a visit by an Indian member of the delegation then in London to see Lord Crewe. This delegate was none other than Mr. G. Sarma, who had seconded the resolution on Indianization at the 1912 Congress session. Sarma wanted to talk to Barrow about higher commissions for Indians. When Barrow pointed out all the difficulties that granting Indians higher commissions entailed, Sarma retorted that India, with its rapidly advancing ideas, wanted to be taken seriously by Britain. Therefore, as a hopeful sign that this was happening, he felt that some step in the direction of higher commissions for Indians needed to be taken soon. Barrow, who was much impressed by Sarma’s demeanor and reasonableness, felt that his views accurately reflected the general feeling of the Indian educated classes. But he was not sure that the educated classes would be pleased when Indianization was enacted. This was because, as Barrow bluntly put it, “[t]he son of any Bunniah or

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Vakeel may become a doctor, but no Bunniah’s son is fit to be an officer, as no men of good caste would tolerate him in command.” 153 If commissions were to be granted to Indians, Barrow felt that the recipients should be the sons of the Indian nobility who had attended the ICC. Only they, Barrow felt, would have the status necessary to be British officers. Moreover, the ICC would have bestowed them with certain gentlemanly qualities that were an integral part of the British officers’ outlook. Although Barrow was of the opinion that only a few Indian noblemen would, if granted the King’s Commission, have the stamina and determination to pursue a military career, with all its “ . . . strenuous and distasteful duties,” he nevertheless felt that something should be done regarding the claims of ICC graduates who had been commissioned in the Native Indian Land Forces. As of April 1914, there were twelve such officers. All of them were still either Lieutenants, or Second-Lieutenants, despite the fact that, barring unforeseen catastrophe, four would have attained Captaincies by 1914 had they been gazetted as regular officers in the Indian Army. Barrow thought that the actual position of these officers was “equivocal, invidious, and illogical.” To Barrow, there was only one possible solution to this problem: the granting of the King’s Commission to certain Indians of the HMNILF, selected on the basis of their professional and social fitness, and their posting to Indian regiments in substantive appointments as squadron or company officers. Barrow saw three main advantages in adopting such a course. The measure would provide definite proof that the GoI was acting in good faith to honor the 1858 proclamation, and, more importantly, would be seen as such by Indian public opinion. Secondly, he resurrected the old argument that acting on this measure now would be seen as an act of “Royal grace,” while delaying it to some future date would inevitably heighten resentment. “Timely and reasonable concessions,” he stated, “may avert revolutions.” Finally, Barrow saw his plan as supporting a key aim of Anglo-Indian policy—securing the continued loyalty to the Raj of the best of the fighting races of India. Barrow contended that this would only be possible if the tangible incentive of higher military careers were made available to them. By admitting Indians to higher military posts, the danger posed to the security of British India would be negligible as, according to Barrow, “ . . . the number who will last out to the rank of field-officer will be few, and . . . the anticipated danger of natives in command will not in practice be realised.” 154 Barrow sent these opinions to Sir Thomas Holderness, 155 the Permanent Under Secretary of State for India, for immediate action. However, in August 1914, when Britain declared war with Germany, Barrow and Holderness agreed that the question of King’s Commissions for Indians would have to be postponed as a result of wartime exigencies. Holderness contended that no committee could make decisions on the matter that were both confident and satisfactory until it could take into account the experiences of the present war. The implication in Holderness’

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contention was that any action on Indianization would be postponed until after the wars’ end. 156 Thus, in August, 1914, the Indianization of the Indian Army's officer corps seemed farther off than ever. In 1914, the 11 HMNILF commission holders were holding posts in IST units, attached to the staffs of commanders of military divisions, or attached extra-regimentally, to line units. For them, regular officer commissions— “the great objects of their longing”—remained out of reach. However, one ex-Imperial cadet had somehow served regimentally in all but name. This was Lieutenant Bala Saheb Daphlé. The younger brother of the Chief of Jath State in the Bombay Presidency, Daphlé was commissioned into the HMNILF on January 1, 1907. At that time, arrangements were made for Daphlé to be posted to the 103rd Mahratta Light Infantry for six months so that he would learn the duties of battalion adjutant, after which he was to be transferred to the Kolhapur and Southern Mahratta IST contingent that was then slated scheduled to be set up. This scheme fell through, however, and the IST contingent in question was never instituted. Daphlé therefore continued on with the 103rd Mahratta Light Infantry, for a period of six years! During this time, he performed all the duties and received all the pay and allowances of a double-company officer. 157 In late 1913, Zorawar Singh, together with some of his HMNILF colleagues, wrote a formal letter to Lord Hardinge, the Viceroy, contending that the position of HMNILF officers in the Indian Army was “absolutely invidious and untenable.” 158 As proof of this, Zorawar pointed to the fact that, although he and his fellow HMNILF officers had been led to believe that they and English officers would be on equal footing, a recent ruling by the CinC India stipulated, in no uncertain terms, that as regards powers of command, HMNILF officers were junior to all British officers, irrespective of whether the Indians were senior, in terms of rank and precedence, to the former. 159 Though he well understood that the difficulty of the situation lay in the “ . . . deep-rooted prejudice of some English officers,” Zorawar Singh appealed to Hardinge’s sense of British justice and “world-famed diplomatic skill, to find a way out of the difficulty.” He even proposed an interim solution that would cause the least amount of “friction”: earmarking one or two existing regiments—whether infantry or cavalry is not mentioned—to be officered entirely by HMNILF officers. 160 That Zorawar Singh should propose a plan that was quite similar to Chesney’s first scheme of 1885 and Watson’s and Cameron’s plans is not surprising. No veil of secrecy surrounded them, as is evidenced by the fact that Zorawar’s batch-mate at the Corps, the diarist Amar Singh, mentioned Watson’s LIT scheme in an entry of February 29, 1904. 161 Zorawar’s tardiness in making his appeal to the Viceroy is easily explained. As he already had a secure position in an IST unit, he personally was relatively unaffected by the powers-of-command question, and intervened only to come to the aid of a fellow HMNILF com-

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mission holder. There is no evidence, however, that Zorawar’s letter reached Hardinge. J.B. Wood at the Foreign and Political Department instructed Ricketts, the ICC’s then commandant whose sponsorship Zorawar and his colleagues had sought, to actively discourage them from sending the letter, as it would dent the Raj’s prestige. Ricketts was also told to remind the Indians that the sending of such a jointly signed letter would be a breach of military discipline. 162 Lieutenant Aga Murtaza Khan was another HMNILF officer for whom employment had to be found. A nephew of the Aga Khan, the leader of the Ismaili sect of Islam, he received his commission on 1 September 1911, and was attached to the 106th Hazara Pioneers. By 1914, he had passed his retention examination for continued service in the Indian Army. 163 Mindful of the Daphlé case, and because attachments of HMNILF officers to regular units for periods longer than two years were deemed undesirable, Simla had to find other suitable employment for him. A staff post at Army Headquarters would have been suitable, but Murtaza was thought unsuitable for such a posting. Murtaza himself wanted to be appointed to the staff of the British Resident in Turkish Arabia, based at Baghdad. He maintained that he was quite suitable for this post, as he was born in Baghdad, had relations there, and more importantly, had a good knowledge of Persian and Arabic. 164 Erskine, the British Resident there, was quite enthusiastic, as Murtaza’s linguistic skills would come in handy on tour. But Erskine, a military man, had Anglo-Indian prejudices. Therefore, he wanted to know if Murtaza was “a good lad” who could be trusted, and whether or not he “required watching.” Security was Erskine’s main concern. He worried that, as a member of his staff, Murtaza would be privy to matters that were “not for communication to outsiders.” Thus, an Anglo-Indian concern of the 1880s—that Indians could not be trusted with sensitive military material—prevailed well into the twentieth century. Erskine’s apprehension was quickly allayed, and Aga Murtaza Khan joined his staff in late March 1914. 165 Khan Mohammed Akbar Khan of Hoti Mardan was a batch mate of Amar Singh’s who, through no fault of his own, gained his HMNILF commission only in 1907. His case is another instance of how Imperial Cadets were treated with scant attention. When doing the third-year course, Mohammed Akbar was selected to accompany Sir Louis Dane on a diplomatic mission to Kabul. As this was a great honor, Mohammed Akbar readily accepted. However, it meant that he was not able to sit the ICC final examination with his batch-mates, who graduated from the Corps during his eight-month absence from it. 166 This caused no end of trouble when it came to his sitting the exam in question. Watson suggested that his service with the Kabul Mission should entitle Mohammed Akbar to a HMNILF commission without having to sit the examination, and Dane recommended that he take a special exam after taking the 1905 hot-weather term. Curzon, who was on leave in Britain when

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Mohammed Akbar was dispatched to Kabul, was initially highly critical, saying that he would not have sent the cadet in the first place, but then simmered down and accepted Dane’s proposal. 167 Accordingly, in mid-April 1905, the Viceroy ordered Mohammed Akbar to rejoin the Corps, which he did the following month, and ordered Watson to report on the best course of action upon his own return from England in October 1905. However, that August, Cameron reported that the cadet had taken a “retention” examination, and that his exam scripts had been forwarded to the director of military education, whose verdict was that the cadet’s answers were “up to snuff.” Despite this, and despite Dane’s opinion that Mohammed Akbar’s HMNILF commission be antedated to 1905, nothing was done. October 1906 saw Mohammed Akbar very frustrated, and complaining bitterly, though politely, to Dane, that his present “ . . . .vegetating has been somewhat wearisome, and recommencement of work would be exceedingly acceptable.” 168 Eventually, after a two-year delay, Mohammed Akbar received his HMNILF commission, though this was later antedated. Despite the start of what eventually would be called the First World War, the Corps was allowed to continue, though under “somewhat depressing conditions.” 169 In early 1915, Major Ricketts, the Corps’ commandant since 1912, was summoned for active service. No other British officer could be found to succeed him, so the Corps was finally “wound up.” The eight cadets still attending were sent home. Three retired, and the rest were granted “prolonged leave.” 170 Yet, for prestige reasons, it was not formally closed, and quite a few Foreign Department files from later years listed its closure as merely “temporary.” 171 The Indianization of the Indian Army’s officer corps seemed as far off as ever. But the wholly unexpected stresses and strains that the war imposed upon the Raj, both in terms of the material effort required, and the changing configurations of the Indian political situation, made the principle of Indianization attainable a mere three years later.

NAME:

RANK IN 1914:

DATE OF BIRTH: DATE OF FIRST COMMISSION:

PRESENT PRESENTLY SERVING AS: RANK ATTAINED ON:

Zorawar Singh

Lieutenant

1 Apr.1883

4 Jul. 1905

4 Oct.1907

Commandant, Bhavnagar Imperial Service Lancers

Aga Casim Shah

Lieutenant

13 Nov.1883

4 Jul.1905

4 Oct.1907

ADC to GOC, Poona Division

Kanwar Amar Singh

Lieutenant

24 Jul. 1878

4 Jul. 1905

4 Oct. 1907

ADC to GOC, Mhow Division

Khan Mohammed Akhbar Lieutenant Khan

27 Feb. 1885

4 Jul. 1905

4 Oct.1907

attached to Malwa Bhil Corps

Malik Mumtaz Mohammed Khan

Lieutenant

14 Aug.1885

1 Jan. 1907

1 Apr. 1907

attached to Chief of Staff Branch, Army Headquarters

Kanwar Pirthi Singh

Lieutenant

15 Apr.1885

1 Jan. 1907

1 Apr. 1909

Assistant Commandant, 5th Camel Corps

Bala Saheb Daphlé

Lieutenant

21 Sept.1883

1 Jan. 1907

1 Apr. 1909

Attaché, Agent to Governor, Kathiawar

Aga Murtaza Khan

Lieutenant

30 May 1880

1 Sept. 1911

1 Dec. 1913

attached to 106th Pioneers

Rana Jodha Jang Bahadur

2/Lt

2 Jan. 1890

11 Nov. 1913

11 Nov. 1913

attached to Tehri State Imperial Service Sappers & Miners

Kanwar Savai Sinhji

2/Lt

5 Oct. 1890

11 Nov. 1913

11 Nov. 1913

attached, 13th Rajputs

Kanwar Daji Raj

2/Lt

5 Dec. 1890

11 Nov. 1913

11 Nov. 1913

attached, 16th Rajputs

Source: Indian Army List, Apr. 1914, p. 200.

Future Recruitment, Future Employment, and the Future of the Corps, 1902–1915 153

Table 4.1. Officers commissioned in the Native Indian Land Forces, 1914

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NOTES 1. Sircar is a Hindi word, derived from Persian, meaning the supreme authority, the state, the government; also “the Master” or “head of the household.” See: Hobson-Jobson, p. 841. 2. DOL: Cameron to Dane, 16 Apr. 1906, para. 21, in GOI FD, Secret I, Jul. 1911, progs. 1–11, NAI. 3. Amar Singh Diary, 24 Mar. 1903. 4. See: M.H. Fisher, Indirect Rule in India: Residents and the Residency System, 17641858, (New York: Oxford University Press, 1991); and I. Copland, “The Other Guardians: Ideology and Performance in the Indian Political Service,” in Robin Jeffrey, ed., People, Princes, and Paramount Power: Society and Politics in the Indian Princely States, (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1978). 5. DOL: L.W. Reynolds, Deputy Secretary to GOI FD to Ricketts, Commandant ICC, 21 Jan. 1913, in GOI FD, Internal B, Jul. 1913, progs. 206-237, NAI. 6. Note by Lord Curzon, 16 Apr. 1903, para 1, in GOI FD Internal B, Aug. 1903 progs.163-169, NAI. 7. The Gaiety Theatre in Simla was popular with Anglo-Indians during the Raj. It was where they staged amateur theatrics. The implication was that men who indulged in these types of activities would not be masculine enough for the Corps. I thank Rana Chhina for this information. An excellent analysis of colonial masculinity is: DeWitt C. Ellinwood, “Two Masculine Worlds: The Army Cantonment and Jaipur Rajput Male Society in Late Colonial India,” in Kaushik Roy (ed.), War and Society in Colonial India, 1807–1945, (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2006). 8. Appendix E to Letter 5C: General Drummond, Inspector-General ISTs, to Government of India, Foreign Department, in GOI FD, Secret I, July 1910, progs. 1–11; DOL: Captain A.B. Minchin, Assistant Secretary GOI FD, to Commandant ICC, 18 Jan. 1909, in GOI FD, Internal B, Aug. 1909, progs. 3–39, NAI. 9. Note by Sir James Dunlop Smith, private secretary to Lord Minto, 14 Apr. 1907, in GOI FD, Secret I, Jul. 1910, progs, 10–11, NAI. In the post-1857 period, most “politicals” were Army officers on secondment, see: C. Keen, Princely India and the British, pp. 20–4. 10. DOL: Watson to Sir Walter Lawrence, 12 May 1903, para. 1, in GOI FD Secret I, Jan. 1905, progs. 36–7; Note: Collen to Curzon 7 Jul. 1900, NAI. 11. Note: Curzon to Collen, 7 Jul. 1900, in GOI FD, Secret I, Dec. 1901, progs. 1–24, NAI. 12. Memo on Employment of Imperial Cadets by Watson, 16 Oct. 1903, para. 2, in GOI FD Secret I, Jan. 1905, progs. 36–7, NAI 13. Ibid., paras. 3-4. On Ranjitsinhji, (1872–1933), who later became the Jamsaheb of Nawanagar, see: S. Sen, Migrant Races: Empire, Identity, and K.S. Ranjitsinhji, (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2004). 14. Employment for Imperial Cadets by Watson, 18 Jan. 1904, para. 3-4, in GOI FD Secret I, Jan. 1905, progs. 36–7, NAI. 15. Ibid., paras. 6-7. 16. Note by Lord Curzon, 5 Feb. 1904, paras. 2, 1, in GOI FD Secret I, Jan. 1905, progs. 36–7, NAI. 17. Note by Lord Curzon, 29 Apr.1905, in GOI FD, Internal B, Aug. 1905, progs. 274–354, NAI. 18. This newspaper had, at one time not long before, employed one Rudyard Kipling. 19. Civil & Military Gazette (Lahore) 31 Mar. 1904; and DOL: Sir Louis Dane to F.J. Stevenson, editor Civil; & Military Gazette, 24 Apr. 1904, in GOI FD Secret I, Jan. 1905, progs. 36–7, NAI. 20. Note by Curzon, 18 Apr. 1904, paras 1-2, in GOI FD Secret I, Jan. 1905, progs. 36–7, NAI. 21. On the Curzon-Kitchener dispute, which Kitchener won by forcing Curzon’s recall, see: S.P. Cohen, “Issue, Role and Personality: The Kitchener-Curzon Dispute,” Comparative Studies in Society and History, 10 (1), April 1968; and P. King, The Viceroy’s Fall: How Kitchener Destroyed Curzon, (London: Sidgwick & Jackson, 1986).

Future Recruitment, Future Employment, and the Future of the Corps, 1902–1915 155 22. Proceedings of a Conference held at the Viceregal Lodge, Simla, 22 April 1904, on…the Future Employment of Imperial Cadets, paras. 1–3, in GOI FD Secret I, Jan. 1905, progs. 36–7, NAI. 23. Government of India, Record of Lord Kitchener’s Administration of the Army in India, 1902–1909, p. 345, in BL(APAC): L/MIL/17/5/1617. 24. Ibid., p. 343. 25. Ibid., pp. 345–6. 26. Proceedings of a Conference held at the Viceregal Lodge, Simla, 22 April 1904, on…the Future Employment of Imperial Cadets, [hereafter: Conference on ICC, 22 Apr. 1904], para.5, in GOI FD Secret I, Jan. 1905, progs. 36–7, NAI. 27. Ibid., paras.6–8. 28. Ibid., para 9; Note by Watson on the Future Employment of Imperial Cadets, 18 Apr. 1904, para. 5, in GOI FD, Secret I, Jan. 1905, progs. 36–7, NAI. 29. Conference on ICC, 22 Apr. 1904, paras. 8–9 in GOI FD, Secret I, Jan. 1905, progs. 36–7, NAI. 30. Ibid., paras. 12, 10. 31. Ibid, para. 11. 32. Kitchener served in Egypt from 1882–1900. He was appointed Adjutant-General of the Egyptian Army in 1888, and became its Sirdar in 1892. See: K. Surridge, “Herbert Kitchener,” in S. Corvi and I.F.W. Beckett (eds), Victoria’s Generals, (Barnsley: Pen and Sword, 2009), p.196. 33. Conference on ICC, 22 Apr. 1904, paras.14–15, GOI FD, Secret I, Jan. 1905, progs. 36–7, NAI. 34. Press Communiqué, GOI FD, 24,Apr. 1904 GOI FD, Secret I, Jan. 1905, progs. 36–7, NAI. 35. DOL: Creagh (CinC India) to Viceroy, 30 Nov. 1910, para. 13, in GOI F&PD, SecretDeposit I, Jun. 1914, progs. 12–35, NAI. 36. DOL: Cameron to Dane, 16 Apr. 1906, paras. 2-3, 6-5, in GOI FD, Secret I, Jul. 1911, progs. 1-11, NAI . 37. Ibid., paras. 10-9. 38. Ibid., paras. 13; 17. 39. Note by V. Gabriel, 27 Aug. 1906, paras. 1–2; 7, in GOI FD, Secret I, Jul. 1911, progs. 1–11, 40. Doubtless a reference to “troublesome” Indian politicians. 41. Note by V. Gabriel, 27 Aug. 1906, paras.10–11; 14–16, in GOI FD, Secret I, Jul. 1911, progs. 1–11,NAI. 42. Note by H.R.C. Dobbs, 4 Sept. 1906, para. 3–4, in GOI FD, Secret I, Jul. 1911, progs. 1–11, NAI. Excellent summaries of the Minto-Morley reforms can be found in: S.R. Mehrotra, Towards India’s Freedom and Partition, (New Delhi: Vikas, 1979), pp. 209–12, and Bandyopadhyay, From Plassey to Partition, pp. 279–82. 43. Note by Dane, 6 Sept. 1906, paras. 1–2, in GOI FD, Secret I, Jul. 1911, progs. 1–11, NAI 44. Ibid., paras. 4–5. 45. Memorandum by Dane on the informal conference on the ICC, Agra, 13 Jan. 1907, in GOI FD, Secret I, Jul. 1911, progs. 1–11, NAI. 46. DOL: Gabriel to Dane, 27 Dec. 1906 in GOI FD, Secret I, Jul. 1911, progs. 1–11, NAI. 47. Note by C.H. Hill, 8 Feb. 1907, paras. 1–2, in GOI FD, Secret I, Jul. 1911, progs. 1–11, NAI. 48. Note by C.W. Waddington on the Imperial Cadet Corps, 26 Feb. 1907, paras 6–7; 9; 13–14, enclosure A to Note by Colvin on ICC, 21 Apr. 1907, in GOI FD, Secret I, Jul. 1911, progs. 1–11, NAI. 49. Dunlop Smith, Sir James Robert, (1858-1921) Indian Army officer; educated at Edinburgh University and Sandhurst; Commissioned 1879; joined Indian Staff Corps, 1882; Private Secretary to Lt-Gov Punjab, 1883; Settlement Officer, Sialkot, 1887; Deputy Commissioner, Hissar, 1896; Director of Land Records and Agriculture, Punjab 1897; Famine Commissioner, Rajputana, 1899; member of Horse and Mule-Breeding Commission, India 1900; Political

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Agent, Phulkian States and Bhawalpur, 1901; Private Secretary to Lord Minto, 1905-1910. Dunlop Smith, Sir James Robert, (1858-1921) Indian Army officer; educated at Edinburgh University and Sandhurst; Commissioned 1879; joined Indian Staff Corps, 1882; Private Secretary to Lt-Gov Punjab, 1883; Settlement Officer, Sialkot, 1887; Deputy Commissioner, Hissar, 1896; Director of Land Records and Agriculture, Punjab 1897; Famine Commissioner, Rajputana, 1899; member of Horse and Mule-Breeding Commission, India 1900; Political Agent, Phulkian States and Bhawalpur, 1901; Private Secretary to Lord Minto, 1905-1910. 50. Note by Sir James Dunlop Smith, 14 Apr. 1907, paras. 1–2, in. GOI FD, Secret I, Jul. 1911, progs. 1–11, NAI. 51. Ibid., paras. 3–6. 52. Report on Winter Term, 1907–1908, by Major D. H. Cameron, Commandant ICC, 26 Mar. 1908, paras, 3; 5, in GOI FD Notes, Internal B, Apr. 1908, prog. 128, NAI. 53. Ibid., paras. 2; 4. 54. Notes on my last visit to Agra, Amar Singh Diary, 4 Feb. 1907, quoted in Ellinwood, Between Two Worlds, p. 156. 55. Ibid. 56. DOL: Watson to Gabriel, 5 Feb. 1906, paras. 1–2, in GOI FD, Internal B, Aug. 1906, progs. 474–508, NAI. Apparently, Lord Hardinge, Viceroy from 1911–16, had similar ideas of forming a “Higher Chiefs’ College.” But there is no indication that he tied it to the reformation of the ICC. See: Ramusack, The Indian Princes, p. 111. 57. Letter: Maharaja of Cooch Behar to the Secretary of the Government of India in the Foreign Department, 19 May 1907 in BL(APAC):L/MIL/17/5/1750 58. Draft Rules of the Imperial Cadet Corps, Rule 1, in Walter Lawrence to H.S. Barnes, 14 Oct. 1901; Government of India Press Communiqué announcing Formation of Imperial Cadet Corps, n.d., in GOI FD Secret I, Dec. 1901, progs. 1–24, NAI . 59. Blackburn, John Morley, 1st Viscount of (1838-1923), British Liberal politician, writer and journalist; educated Cheltenham College and Lincoln College, Oxford, left without Honours degree; editor, Fortnightly Review, (1867-1882), and Pall Mall Gazette, (1880-1883); elected to Commons, 1883; Irish Chief Secretary, 1886; 1892-1895; As India Secretary. 19051910, 1911, mixed repression of Bengali terrorist movement with reform; Indian Councils Act of 1909; extended Indian representation in the Raj’s governance; Lord President of Council 1910-1914; biographer, well-known for biography of Gladstone, his hero. For his Indian record, see: M.N. Das, India under Morley and Minto: Politics behind Revolution, Repression, and Reforms, (London: Allen and Unwin, 1964). 60. SSI Despatch to GOI No. 91, 7 Aug. 1908, para. 2–4, in BL(APAC): L/MIL/17/5/1750. Morley also wanted figures on how many cadets had been trained at the ICC since its inception; how many had been commissioned; and the total expenditure of the Corps, since inception. 61. Letter No. 3661 I.C.: from the Secretary to the Government of India in the Foreign Department to the Commandant, Imperial Cadet Corps, 11 Sept. 1908; Letter No. 5 T: from the Commandant, Imperial Cadet Corps to the Secretary to the Government of India in the Foreign Department, 17 Sept. 1908, para. 1, in BL(APAC): L/MIL/17/5/1750. 62. Letter No. 5T; Taylor to Secretary, GoI, FD, 17 Sept. 1908, para 4, in BL(APAC): L/ MIL/17/5/1750 63. Ibid., paras. 5-6; 8. 64. BL(APAC): L/MIL/17/5/1746: Memorandum by Lord Kitchener, 1908, para. 19. 65. Originally a Hindu gotra (hereditary clan) composed of Rajputs and Jats. A number of Muslim Tiwana communities emerged in the 17th century in the Shahpur region in western Punjab. See: www.jatland/com/htm/Tiwana, (accessed 20 Aug. 2014). 66. BL(APAC): L/MIL/17/5/1746: Memorandum by Lord Kitchener, 1908,, para. 16 67. Ibid., paras. 17–18. 68. Note by S.H. Butler, 17 Oct. 1908; Note by Dunlop Smith to Butler, 29 Oct. 1908, in GOI FD Secret I, Jul. 1910, progs. 1–11 NAI. 69. On the Sillidari system, see: Mason, A Matter of Honour, p. 26. 70. Letter 5C: Brig-Gen F.H.R. Drummond, to Secretary, GOI FD, 1 Dec. 1908, paras. 16–17, in GOI FD Secret I, Jul. 1910, progs. 1–11 NAI. 71. Ellinwood, Between Two Worlds, ch. 4, passim.

Future Recruitment, Future Employment, and the Future of the Corps, 1902–1915 157 72. Creagh, General Sir Garrett O’Moore (1848-1923), Irish-born Army officer; commissioned into 95th (Derbyshire) infantry regiment of British Army after passing out of Sandhurst, 1866; posted to India, 1869, and transferred to Indian Army’s Bombay Staff Corps, 1870; wins Victoria Cross for bravery and coolness of command under fire, 2nd Anglo-Afghan War, 1879; officer commanding 29th (Duke of Connaught’s Own) Bombay Infantry regiment, 1890; Assistant Quarter-Master General, 1896; GOC Indian Contingent in the Boxer uprising, 1900; GOC International Force in China, 1901; Military Secretary at the India Office, 1907; CinC India, 1909-1914; Advisor, Central Association of Volunteer Training Corps, 1914-1918. Published Indian Studies, (London: Hutchinson, 1918). 73. Official Letter: Creagh to Minto, 30 Nov. 1910, para. 21; GOI FD Despatch, No. 81 of 1910, 16 Jun. 1910, para. 6, in BL(APAC): L/MIL/17/5/1750 74. GOI FD Despatch, No. 81 of 1910, 16 Jun. 1910, paras. 6–10, in BL(APAC): L/MIL/17/ 5/1750. 75. Duff, General Sir Beauchamp, (1855-1918). Indian Army, Adjutant-General India, 1903-1906; Chief of Staff, India, 1906-1909; Military Secretary, India Office, 1909-1914; CinC India, 1914-1916. Although Duff held posts of importance in the Indian Army, his role in the Mesopotamian disaster cut short his tenure as CinC India. He committed suicide in 1918. See: K. Coates Ulrichsen, “India and the Mesopotamia Campaign,” in A. Jeffreys, ed., The Indian Army in the First World War, (Solihull: Helion, 2018), p. 263. 76. Note by Lieutenant-General Sir Beauchamp Duff, 8 Jul. 1910, in BL(APAC): L/MIL/ 17/5/1750. 77. Ibid. 78. Hirtzel, Frederic Arthur, (1870-1937). India Office official; educated Dulwich College and Trinity College, Oxford; fellow of Brasenose College, Oxford, 1895-1902; entered India Office, 1894; as private secretary to Sir John Morley, India Secretary, 1906-1910, helped draft Morley-Minto reforms of 1909; Secretary, India Office Political Department, 1909-1917; retired 1930, as Permanent Under-Secretary of State for India. 79. Political Department’s Note, 14 Jul. 1910, in BL(APAC): L/MIL/17/5/1750. 80. Ibid. It is beyond the scope of this work to investigate whether such a growing sentiment against the miniscule presence of Indians in British society existed at that time. Though no reliable statistics exist for the period before Indian independence, a 1951 Congress Party estimate put the figure of the total number of Indians in Britain in 1932 at between 5,000 and 7,128. Two decades earlier, the total would have been even less. See: R. Visram, Ayahs, Lascars and Princes: The Story of Indians in Britain, 1700–1947, (London: Pluto Press, 1986), pp. 190, 237. See also: C. Kondapi, Indians Overseas, 1838–1949, (New Delhi: Indian Council of World Affairs, 1951), p. 360. 81. Note by Lieutenant-Colonel Sir J. Dunlop Smith, 29 Jul. 1910, in BL(APAC): L/MIL/ 17/5/1750. 82. Sinha, Sir Sayendra Prasanno, (1863-1928), moderate Bengali lawyer/politician; secured scholarship to Presidency College, Calcutta, 1878; studied law at Lincoln’s Inn, and qualified, 1886; as Judge Advocate General in Bengal, 1905-09, was the GOI’s constitutional law advisor during the partition of Bengal agitation in which many of his Indian friends and colleagues took part; dealt with the fraught situation with such equanimity as to gain their respect, and also that of Anglo-India. In 1909, he was the first Indian appointed as Law Member of the Viceroy’s Executive Council; knighted 1914; President of 1915 Congress session. See: See: S. V. FitzGerald, “Sinha, Satyendra Prasanno, first Baron Sinha (1863–1928),” rev. T. Raychaudhuri, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004) http://www. oxforddnb.com/view/article/36112 (accessed 2 Feb. 2016). 83. Note by Lieutenant-Colonel Sir J. Dunlop Smith, 29 Jul. 1910, in BL(APAC): L/MIL/ 17/5/1750.. 84. Egerton put forward this idea in a minute written before receipt of the Government of India's Despatch, and which he adhered to even after reading the aforementioned dispatch. See: Note by General Sir Charles Egerton, 3 Oct. 1910, in BL(APAC): L/MIL/17/5/1750. 85. Former Note by Sir Charles Egerton., in . BL(APAC): L/MIL/17/5/1750. 86. Note by General Sir Charles Egerton, 3 Oct. 1910, in BL(APAC): L/MIL/17/5/1750. 87. Note by Lord Curzon, 19 Oct. 1910, in BL(APAC): L/MIL/17/5/1750

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88. The intake of cadets in the first period was 49, while the intake in the second period was 27. 89. Note by Lord Curzon, 19 Oct. 1910, in BL(APAC): L/MIL/17/5/1750. 90. Here, the former Viceroy was fibbing: as we have seen earlier, Maitland’s estimation envisioned a maximum of only 49 posts—not well over 50. 91. Draft Rules of the Imperial Cadet Corps, enclosure to W. Lawrence to H.S. Barnes, 14 Oct. 1901, in GOI FD, Secret I, Dec. 1901, progs. 1–24, NAI. 92. Lord Curzon's Note, 19 Oct. 1910, in BL(APAC): L/MIL/17/5/1750. 93. Ibid. 94. Hardinge, Charles, 1st Baron Hardinge of Penhurst, (1858-1944); grandson of Henry Hardinge, 1st Viscount Hardinge, a Governor-General of India in the 1840s; educated at Harrow and at Trinity College, Cambridge; entered diplomatic service, 1880; 1st Secretary, Tehran, 1896; 1st Secretary, St. Petersburg, 1898; Ambassador to Russia, 1904; Permanent UnderSecretary to the Foreign Office, 1906; Raised to Peerage and appointed Viceroy of India, 1910; injured in assassination attempt, 1912; oversaw implementation of Morley-Minto Reforms; in 1914-1916, organized India’s First World War effort, and the disastrous 1st Mesopotamian campaign; Permanent Under-Secretary to the Foreign Office, 1916; ambassador to France, 1920; retired 1922. 95. Crewe, Robert Offley Ashburton Crewe-Milnes, 1st Marquess of, (1858-1945), radical Liberal politician and writer; educated at Harrow and Trinity College, Cambridge; on staff of Foreign Secretary, 1883; thereafter, was important in government, becoming Lord President, 1905, and Colonial Secretary, 1908; as government leader in the House of Lords, played important role in passage of 1911 Parliament Act, which deprived the upper house of its veto powers; as India Secretary, 1910-1915, worked with Hardinge on Coronation Durbar of 1911, reunification of Bengal, establishing Delhi as capital of the Raj, India’s First World War effort, and constitutional reform. 96. DOL: Hardinge to Crewe, 1 Jan. 1911, para. 3, in BL(APAC): L/MIL/17/5/1750. 97. Official Letter: CinC India to Viceroy, 30 Nov. 1910, para. 1, in BL(APAC): L/MIL/17/ 5/1750. 98. Ibid., para. 13. 99. Ibid., paras.22; 21. 100. Ibid., paras. 8–10; 14–15. 101. Note Regarding the Cadet Corps, n.d., [Viceroy to CinC], paras. 5–8, in BL(APAC): L/ MIL/17/5/1750. 102. Creagh to Hardinge, 25 Dec. 1910, paras. 3–4 in BL(APAC): L/MIL/17/5/1750.. 103. Letter: Hardinge to Crewe, 1 Jan. 1911, para. 4, in BL(APAC): L/MIL/17/5/1750. 104. Ibid., para 3. 105. Ibid., paras. 2; 4. 106. Note by General Sir William Nicholson, 23 Feb. 1911, para. 11, , in BL(APAC): L/MIL/ 17/5/1750. 107. The CID was formed in 1902. See: P.M. Kennedy, The Realities Behind Diplomacy : Background Influences on British External Policy, 1865–1980, (London: Fontana Press, 1989), p. 63. 108. Note by General Sir William Nicholson, 23 Feb. 1911, paras. 13-15, in BL(APAC): L/ MIL/17/5/1750. 109. Extract from the proceedings of the Council of the Governor-General of India, Government House, Calcutta, 1 Feb. 1907, in GOI FD Internal B Feb. 1907, prog. 360. 110. Communication from the Honorary Secretary, All-India Muslim League, advocating appointment of younger sons of Ruling Chiefs and scions of other Noble Houses to higher posts in the British Army after training in the Imperial Cadet Corps, n.d., in GOI FD Internal B, May 1911, prog. 58, NAI. 111. Resolutions carried by the Twenty-Fourth Indian National Congress, Lahore 1909, in Zaidi & Zaidi eds., vol. 5, pp. 549. 112. Ibid., pp. 433–4. Raja's assessment shows him to be a keen follower of then current world affairs. For more on Anglo-German enmity, see: P.M. Kennedy, The Rise of Anglo-

Future Recruitment, Future Employment, and the Future of the Corps, 1902–1915 159 German Antagonism (London: Allen and Unwin, 1980); for the naval aspect, see, P.M. Kennedy, The Rise and Fall of British Naval Mastery (London: Allen Lane, 1976), ch. 8. 113. For invasion scares in Britain, see, H.R. Moon, “The Invasion of the United Kingdom: Public Controversy and Official Planning, 1888–1918” (unpub. PhD: University of London, 1968). For an entertaining survey of the “penny dreadful” popular invasion literature, so expertly lampooned to no avail by P.G. Wodehouse in his 1909 novel The Swoop! Or How Clarence Saved England, see: C.M. Andrew, Secret Service: The Making of the British Intelligence Community, (London: Heinemann, 1985), ch. 2. 114. Proceedings of the Twenty-Fourth Indian National Congress, 1909, in Zaidi & Zaidi, vol. 5, pp. 433–4. 115. Ibid., p. 436. 116. Letter from the London Committee of the All-India Moslem League to the UnderSecretary of State for India, 27 Jan. 1911, para. 1, in BL(APAC): L/MIL/17/5/1750. On the early Muslim League, see: F. Shaikh, “Muslims and Political Representation in Colonial India: The Making of Pakistan,” in M. Hasan (ed.), India’s Partition: Process, Strategy, Mobilization, (Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2001). 117. V. Chirol, Indian Unrest, (London: Macmillan, 1910), p. 328. On Chirol, who was the foreign editor of The Times (London) from 1899–1912, see: L. Fitzinger, Diplomat Without Portfolio: Valentine Chirol, His Life, and The Times, (London and New York: I.B. Tauris, 2006). 118. The Broad Arrow was “a service paper in the correct sense of the term.” See: Coulburn’s United Service Magazine, vol. 153, Jun. 1880, p. 240, google books (accessed 3 Sept. 2014). 119. The passage from Broad Arrow is quoted in: Letter from the London Committee of the All-India Moslem League to the Under-Secretary of State for India, 27 Jan. 1911, para. 4, in BL(APAC): L/MIL/17/5/1750. 120. Note: Secretary of State to Viceroy, n.d., but approx. mid-1912, paras. 1–2, in BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19009. 121. Note: R. Ritchie to Military Secretary, India Office, 16 Mar. 1911, in BL(APAC): L/ MIL/17/5/1750. 122. Report of a Special Committee appointed by the Secretary of State for India to advise on the question raised by the proposals in the Government of India’s letter of 16th June 1910, as to the employment of the cadets who have qualified in the Imperial Cadet Corps for commissions in the Indian Army, 1911, [hereafter Special Committee's Report, 1911], in BL(APAC): L/ MIL17/5/1750 123. See: M.N. Das, India under Morley and Minto, (London: Allen and Unwin, 1964), ch. 5; the contemporary attitude of favoritism toward Muslims can be found in Chirol’s Indian Unrest, which depicts the Muslim League as “ . . . intended to serve as a centre for the maintenance and consolidation of the communal interests of the Mohamedans all over India in their social, educational, and economic as well as their political aspects,” [p. 132]. On the other hand, the Congress, in Chirol’s opinion, is an organization dominated by the Western-educated Hindu middle and professional classes, and therefore unrepresentative of India in general [p. 154–5]. But he conveniently ignores the fact that the men who started the League in 1906 were also unrepresentative of the constituency they claimed to represent. They did not elect delegates, and were mainly Muslims from the United Provinces. Indeed, the Muslim League did not become a popular force until the 1930s, and only in the following decade could it claim to represent Muslims of all regions. But this did not prevent men like Chirol from claiming that it could, long before then. Special Committee's Report, 1911, paras. 2; 4, in BL(APAC): L/ MIL17/5/1750. 124. Note: Secretary of State to Viceroy [n.d. but approx.. mid-1912], para. 4, in BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19009; Special Committee's Report, 1911, para. 15, in BL(APAC): L/MIL/17/5/1750. 125. Special Committee's Report, 1911, para. 12, in BL(APAC): L/MIL/17/5/1750 126. Ibid., para. 16. 127. Ibid., para. 7. 128. Ibid., paras. 8-9. 129. Ibid., para.18.

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130. On the genealogy of the Household Cavalry and the Guards, which date from the mid17th century, see: J.M. Brereton, The British Soldier: A Social History from 1661 to the Present Day, (London: The Bodley Head), p. 1. 131. Special Committee's Report, 1911, para. 20; Note by General Sir Beauchamp Duff and Sir Arthur Hirtzel, paras. 4–5, in BL(APAC):L/MIL/17/5/1750. 132. Special Committee's Report, 1911, paras. 22; 21, in BL(APAC):L/MIL/17/5/1750. 133. Ibid., para. 23. 134. Note by Lord Crewe, 28 Aug. 1911, in BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19009. 135. Note by Mr. Abbas Ali Baig, n.d., in BL(APAC): L/MIL/17/5/1750. 136. Note by Lieutenant-Colonel Sir James Dunlop Smith, para. 4, in BL(APAC): L/MIL/17/ 5/1750. 137. Note by Lord Crewe, 28 Aug. 1911, in BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19009. 138. Ibid.; Private Telegram: Secretary of State to Viceroy, 14 Sept. 1911, Hardinge Papers: 85/1/7a, CUL. 139. Memorandum on Private Telegram From the Secretary of State to the Viceroy, dated 14 Sept. 1911, by Lt.-Col. F.A. Maxwell, 15 Sept. 1911, in Hardinge Papers: 85/1/7a, CUL. 140. Letter: Major W.C. Black, Military Secretary to the C-in-C, to the Military Secretary to H.E. the Viceroy, 19 Sept. 1911, in Hardinge Papers: 85/1/7a, CUL. 141. Viceroy to Secretary of State: Private Telegram no. 260, 21 Nov. 1911, in Hardinge Papers: 85/1/7a, CUL. 142. Smith-Dorrien, General Sir Horace, (1858-1930). Born into an Army family; educated at Sandhurst, and then joined the 95th (Derbyshire) Foot; saw action in Anglo-Zulu war, 1879; fought in Egypt and Sudan, 1882-1886; passed staff college, 1888; Service in India, 18891898; fought at Omdurman, 1898, and was present at the Fashoda Incident, 1898; as commander 2nd Corps BEF, successfully fought difficult delaying action and disengagement against numerically superior German forces at Le Cateau, 26 Aug. 1914, which strained his relations with French, the GOC BEF, and negatively affected his subsequent career. See: S. Badsey, “Dorrien, Sir Horace Lockwood Smith- (1858–1930),” Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Oxford University Press, 2004; online edn, Jan 2011 [http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/ article/36169, accessed 15 Feb 2017] Thanks to Dr. Cat Wilson. 143. Crewe to Haldane, 1 Oct. 1911, in Crewe Papers, I/3(a), CUL; Private Telegram: Secretary of State to Viceroy, 28 Sept. 1911; Note of a Conference held at Government House, Calcutta, 3 Jan. 1912, in ibid. [hereafter: Calcutta Conference, 3 Jan. 1912], in Hardinge Papers: 85/1/7a, CUL. 144. Memorandum [by H. Smith-Dorrien] Regarding Admission of Natives to Commissions in the Army, February, 1912, [Hereafter Smith-Dorrien's Memo, Feb. 1912], paras. 3-5, in BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19009. 145. Ibid., para. 7. 146. Resolutions passed at the Twenty-Sixth Session of the Indian National Congress, Calcutta, 1911, in Zaidi & Zaidi (eds), vol. 6, pp. 134–8. 147. Ibid., p. 136 148. Smith Dorrien’s memo, Feb. 1912, para. 2, in BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19009. 149. Note on Calcutta Conference, 3 Jan. 1912, and Note by Lieutenant-Colonel F.A. Maxwell, 3 Jan. 1912, para. 14, in Hardinge Papers: 85/1/7a, CUL. 150. Barrow, General Sir Edmund George (1852-1924), Indian Army officer. Combat experience: 2nd Anglo-Afghan War, 1878, Egypt, 1882; Tirah, 1897; China Expedition, 1900. Membership in boundary commissions: Chitral, Kafiristan, Hunza and Wakhan, 1885; and Siam, 1889. Command experience: Hong Kong Regiment, 1892 1900; GOC, Peshawar Division, 1904; GOC Southern Army, 1908. Administration: Secretary to Military Department, GoI, 1901; Military Secretary, India Office, 1914; Council of India, 1917; retired, 1919. See: Who Was Who, 1929-1940, (London: Adam & Charles Black, 1941), p. 72. 151. Letter: General Sir Edmund Barrow, General Officer Commanding, Southern Army, to Brigadier W.E. Peyton, Military Secretary to CinC, India, 9 Mar. 1912, in Hardinge Papers: 85/ 1/7a, CUL. 152. Peyton to Maxwell, 2 May 1912; Maxwell to Peyton 4 May 1912, in Hardinge Papers: 85/1/7a, CUL

Future Recruitment, Future Employment, and the Future of the Corps, 1902–1915 161 153. Note by Military Secretary, India Office, 28 Jul. 1914, in BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19006. The Buniya caste was one that was traditionally associated with trade, and therefore was anathema to anyone believing, as Barrow most certainly did, in the gentleman-ethos. Vakeels, in colonial India, were a subordinate class of Indian pleaders, who represented Indian clients in minor matters in the law courts. See: Hobson-Jobson, p. 961. 154. Note by Military Secretary, India Office, 28 Jul. 1914 in BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/190-06 155. Holderness, Sir Thomas William, 1st Baronet, (1849-1924), Canadian-born Indian Civil Servant. Educated at Cheltenham and University College, Oxford; joined ICS, 1870; postings in North-Western Province, 1870-1881; Under-Secretary, Revenue department, GoI, 1898; retired from ICS, and joined India Office, 1901; Permanent Under-Secretary at India Office, 1912-1919. 156. Note by Holderness, 10 May 1915 in BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/190-06. 157. Note by S. Harcourt Butler, Dec. 1 1908, in GOI FD, Secret I, Jan. 1909, progs 25–28; Note by J.P., 19 Dec. 1913, para 2; and Note by W.E. Peyton, Army Department, 26 Dec. 1913, in GOI F&PD Notes, Deposit I, April 1914, prog. 42, NAI. From around 1900 till the outbreak of World War I, the Indian Army’s infantry battalions were organized into four double-companies. Presumably, this was done to lessen the number of officers required by each. I thank Rana Chhina for this information. 158. DOL: Zorawar Singh to Ricketts, 2 Dec. 1913 in GOI F&PD Notes, Deposit I, April 1914, prog. 42, NAI. 159. For the CinC’s ruling, see: Lt. H.G. Brodric, Adjutant, 103rd Mahratta Light Infantry to Lt. Bala Saheb Daphlé, 103rd Mahratta Light Infantry, 2 Oct. 1912, in GOI F&PD Notes, Deposit I, April 1914, prog. 42, NAI. 160. Letter: Lieutenant Zorawar Singh, Commandant Bhavnagar Imperial Service Lancers to His Excellency the Right Hon’ble Charles, Baron Hardinge of Penhurst, Viceroy and Governor-General of India [hereafter: Letter: Zorawar Singh to Hardinge] 2 Dec. 1913, paras. 3; 4; 7–9, GOI F&PD Notes, Deposit I, April 1914, prog. 42, NAI. 161. Amar Singh Dairy, 29 Feb. 1904. 162. Letter: Zorawar Singh, to Hardinge, 2 Dec. 1913, para. 4; DOL: Wood to Ricketts, 5 Jan. 1914, in GOI F&PD Notes, Deposit I, April 1914, prog. 42, NAI. 163. In all military forces, officers, when first commissioned, are appointed on a probationary basis for a specified period of time. There are various mechanisms by which they can become permanent officers, one of which is the retention examination, which operated in the British Home and Indian Armies in the period under discussion. 164. Note by Lt.-Col. A.C. Black, Assistant Military Secretary to the CinC, India, 27 Oct. 1913, in GOI F&PD, Internal B, Sept. 1914, prog. 8; Note by Wood, 21 Sept. 1914, in GOI F& PD War-B (secret) May 1915, progs. 83–90, NAI. 165. Demi-Official Telegram No. 861A: Deputy-Secretary GOI F&PD to Political Resident Turkish Arabia, Baghdad, 17 Jun. 1914; Note by J.B. Wood, 4 Jan. 1914; DOL: Erskine to Chenevix-Trench, 9 Feb. 1914, in GOI F&PD, Internal B, Sept. 1914, prog. 8, NAI.. 166. Official Letter: Khan Bahadur Khowaja Mohammed Khan of Hoti to Sir Louis Dane, 19 Jun. 1906 in GOI FD, Internal B, May 1907, prog. 33, NAI. 167. Note by Curzon, 12 Feb. 1905, in GOI FD, Internal B, May 1907, prog. 33, NAI. 168. Note by C.F.F., 16 Mar. 1906; Note by Dane, 19 Mar. 1906; Khan Mohammed Akbar Khan to Dane 27 Oct. 1906, in GOI FD, Internal B, May 1907, prog. 33, NAI. 169. Report on the Working of the Imperial Cadet Corps for the half-year ending 10 August 1914, and on individual cadets, in GOI F&PD, Internal B, Sept. 1914, prog. 113, NAI. 170. Note by J.B. Wood, 18 Feb. 1915; Note by J.P., 23 Feb. 1915, in GOI F& PD, Internal B, Jul. 1915, progs. 20–34; Note by J.B.S., 9 May 1915, in GOI F&PD, Establishment B, Mar. 1918, progs. 328–34, NAI. 171. See, for example: GOI F&PD, Internal B, Mar. 1915, progs. 162–77; GOI F&PD, Establishment B, Aug. 1915, progs. 105–114; and GOI F&PD, Internal B, Jan. 1918, progs. 340–4, NAI.

Chapter Five

War and the Window of Opportunity, 1914–1917

“I maintain that it is absolutely impossible to tell an Indian that he may control the destinies of Englishmen if he becomes a judge or an Indian Civilian, that to the talking people and to the politician all avenues are open, but that if he fights for the Empire, he can never expect to hold a position of authority.” —E.S. Montagu, 1917 1 “Will the Honourable Gentleman bring the attention of the Secretary of State to the fact that if Indians are brought over here to be educated at Sandhurst and Woolwich, they will be turned into revolutionists?” —Commander Wedgewood, 1917 2

The First World War, in which India participated by virtue of being Britain’s colonial possession, wrought great changes in India’s relationship with Britain, and the ways in which this relationship was viewed by Anglo-Indians and Indians alike. Politically, the greatest change was the Montagu Declaration of August 20, 1917, which pledged Britain to the gradual introduction to India and her people of greater self-government within the British Empire. 3 But there was another declaration Montagu made that day, sanctioning the Indianization of the Army’s officer corps. This chapter’s goal is to reconstruct and explain the process by which the Indianization issue—which had essentially reached an impasse after the failure of the informal discussion in 1912—was accepted as an integral part of policy by London and Delhi (the new capital of Britain’s Indian empire) 4 only five years later, in 1917. When war was declared on August 4, 1914, official India’s response was one characterized by loyalty and generosity. 5 In 1912, as war clouds began to loom, the Army in India (Nicholson) Committee opened the door to India’s military contribution in the event of a general European war. After stating the 163

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usual platitude that “the Army in India should not be specifically maintained for the purpose of meeting external obligations of an Imperial character,” it concluded that: “ . . . in the event of a grave emergency arising which threatens the integrity of the British Empire . . . [w]e are . . . of the opinion that, it should be so organised and equipped as to be capable of affording ready overseas co-operation, when the situation in India allows of it, in such direction as His Majesty’s Government may determine.” 6 General Douglas Haig, the Army in India’s Chief of Staff between 1910–1912, was convinced that war with Germany was very much in the offing, and had already formulated a secret plan to dispatch Indian forces to Europe. The Viceroy, Charles Hardinge, however, apparently vehemently opposed this. Morton-Jack contends that Hardinge objected on financial grounds. A more likely reason the Viceroy objected to Haig’s plan was that, if approved, it would remove frontline Indian Army units from New Delhi’s control. 7 This is plausible if we remember that the first Mesopotamian campaign was under New Delhi’s control. In 1913, London asked New Delhi what forces it could send overseas in the event of war. Anglo-Indian authorities replied that the colony could dispatch two infantry divisions and one cavalry brigade, and that, in an emergency, an additional infantry division could be sent. However, when war was declared, India offered two infantry divisions and two cavalry brigades. Initially, these forces were to be sent to Egypt, but Hardinge now contended that it would be a slur upon India’s loyalty if Indian troops weren’t deployed in France, especially as France itself had deployed its own colonial troops to defend its soil. As he had earlier explained to King George V, India “ . . . could send troops to Europe in an emergency on a much larger scale than it would be possible for any [other] colony to do.” The Indian Army was thus called upon to fulfill a heretofore unintended purpose: that of an Imperial strategic reserve—“ . . . to meet contingencies as they arose.” 8 In the first three months of hostilities, India dispatched 60,000 men overseas to fight for the British Empire; by the end of 1914, this number had grown to 101,000. 9 And not a moment too soon. On the Western Front, Indian troops were rushed in to plug the gaps in the depleted British line in the desperate fighting in and around the Ypres Salient, which the German army was desperately trying to puncture. Recruitment into the Army, which had been 1,250 men per month during peacetime, shot up to 10,000 per month by the end of 1915. The overall number of Indian recruits increased from 93,000 in 1915, to 104,000 in 1916, to 194,000 in 1917, to 327,000 in 1918. 10 During the “Great War,” as it came to be called, the Indian Army’s strategic deployment was not limited to France. In addition to Indian Expeditionary Force A, which was sent to the Western Front. 11 India dispatched six other expeditionary forces overseas. Forces B and C were deployed in East Africa. Force D, which eventually became the largest Indian force sent over-

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seas, was deployed in Mesopotamia. Force E saw action in the Sinai and Palestine, Force F in Suez, and Force G in Gallipoli. 12 During the course of the war, the Indian Army formed a total of 13 infantry and two cavalry divisions. Averaging just over 12,000 men, these divisions were smaller than British divisions. The 1st Peshawar, the 2nd Rawalpindi, the 4th Quetta, the 5th Mhow, the 8th Lucknow and the 9th Secunderabad divisions were regular units that deployed in India. While the 1st, 2nd, and 4th divisions served through the entire war, the 5th, 8th and 9th divisions were disbanded in 1916. The 6th Poona division deployed in Mesopotamia in 1914, surrendering to the Turks at Kut in April 1916. It was not reconstituted. The 10th and 11th divisions were formed in Egypt in December 1914, and deployed there until they were disbanded early in 1916. The 3rd Lucknow and 7th Meerut divisions saw action in France as part of Force A from October 1914 till late December 1915. They were then transferred to Mesopotamia and, in early 1918, redeployed to Palestine. The Burma division was a regional command headquarters having jurisdiction over all troops in Burma, and stayed there throughout the war. The 14th and 15th divisions were formed in Mesopotamia in 1916 and deployed there for the rest of the war. The same deployment awaited the 17th and 18th divisions, formed in 1917. The 16th division formed in India in 1916 and were deployed there till the war’s end. The 12th division was formed in Mesopotamia in 1915, and disbanded there in 1916. The 1st and 2nd cavalry divisions were formed in 1915 in France and stayed there until early1918, when they were disbanded—their sub-units going to Palestine. The Mesopotamia division was formed there in 1916, and deployed there. It should be clear from the foregoing that Indian Army divisions were impermanent compared with those in Western armies. They were holding organizations, designed to control troops in a particular theater. As sepoys were transferred from one theater to another, divisions in one theater disbanded as their sepoys were transferred to new deployments. Most of the units serving outside Europe were formed to “free up” British units for service in the main Western Front in Europe. 13 The combatant strength of an Indian infantry division stood at 12,154, and consisted of 8,606 Indians, and 3,548 Britons. It also had 3,212 followers. 14 All told, India recruited about 1.3 million men to fight and labor on the various battlefronts. 15 More importantly, India started the war with a shortage of officers. The tremendous losses incurred in these first months, as the full impact of industrial warfare began to be felt, meant that Britain needed every King’s Commissioned Officer it could muster. Immediately after the August declaration of war, the War Office retained for European service anywhere from 253 to 530 British officers of the Indian Army who were then on home leave in England, to raise, train and command the Kitchener battalions. Consequently, during the war, Sandhurst ceased to be the Indian Army’s source for officers.

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Simla’s response to this was to turn the Staff College at Quetta into an officer-training school, and to open another such facility at Wellington in the Madras Presidency. Both institutions were to make officers out of young Britons in India, to be purely temporary expedients, and Quetta was to revert to its staff college role, and Wellington to shut down, upon the resumption of peace. 16 Official India’s response to “the mother country’s” call for aid was matched by that of unofficial India. Thirty-one ruling princes immediately offered their personal services to the Crown, among them ex-Imperial Cadets such as the Nawabs of Sachin and Jaora, the Raja of Rutlam, and the Maharaja of Jodhpur. Delhi only accepted 10 of these offers. Seven of the 11 HMNILF commissioned officers were recommended in 1914 for active service, though not in frontline duties. Despite this, three of the four not recommended—Zorawar Singh, Savai Sinhji, and Daji Raj—did eventually see active service. Zorawar served in Mesopotamia and Daji Raj in France, where he was killed in September 1917. Savai Sinhji saw action in East Africa, as a member of the 13th Sekhawat Regiment. Though it is not clear what Savai did there, it must have involved leading troops in battle, for Sawai’s commanding officer was so impressed with the lad’s performance and bravery as to say that he deserved the Victoria Cross. 17 All the 27 princely states that maintained Imperial Service contingents offered to place them at the disposal of the Government of India for the duration of the war. New Delhi accepted the 12 contingents judged to be the best, including the Bikaner Camel Corps. The moderate vein of Indian nationalist opinion resurrected the old demand that Indians be allowed to join the Volunteer Corps. Although Hardinge liked the idea, his council—with the exception of the only Indian member, Sir Syed Ali Imam—quashed it. Hardinge was not impressed, railing to Crewe in late August that his councillors saw “no further than the ends of their noses,” and retained outdated and alarmist ideas of the immediate post-mutiny period. Moreover, he pointedly criticized them for failing to see that, “in time of emergency, the people have an inherent right to defend their own homes, and that they can be trusted to do so.” 18 The war was not yet a year old when the question of Indianization was reopened. Thinking on the subject was spurred by two related considerations: the desire, emanating from India, to undertake tangible measures in recognition of the “ . . . support given by India to the Empire during the period of crisis”; and the impetus, mainly from the India Office, to figure out the main issues that would form the nub of politics in India once peace returned. 19 In India, Sir Reginald Craddock, 20 the Home Member of the Viceroy’s Council, reluctantly put Indianization on the agenda once again. True to his conservative bent, Craddock brought out all the tenets of the anti-Indianization side. To open up eligibility for the King’s Commission to all classes of Indian, and to make competitive examinations the sole criterion of selection

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would be very dangerous, because martial race sepoys did not themselves “ . . . desire to be officered by Indians of the class who would be most likely to succeed in public literary examinations for entrance into an Indian Sandhurst.” 21 To place these men under the command of Babus would diminish the popularity and, most importantly, the combat efficiency of the Indian Army. Moreover, Craddock doubted whether it would ever be possible to post British officers under Indian KCOs, because “ . . . such an absolute equality of the races . . . [was] . . . incompatible with our position in this country.” 22 Craddock therefore warned the Viceroy that the desire to curry political favor or to appease interest groups should not pressure the Indian Army into employing potentially unreliable men. If it were found impossible to deny Indians King’s Commissions any longer, Craddock set forth five criteria—each rehashing earlier Anglo-Indian ideas. Firstly, Indian KCOs had to be drawn from the “fighting races.” Secondly, he felt that they had to belong to the Indian landed classes, the Indian aristocracy, or the sturdy yeoman farmer class. Thirdly, selection, rather than open competitive examination, was to be the admission criterion. Fourthly, Indian KCOs would only command units composed of men of their own class or caste. Finally, and rather predictably, he did not favor wholesale Indianization, thinking of it as an experiment, to only be put into effect gradually. Craddock envisioned that the experiment would be small in scope, confined to only six regiments, converting existing ones instead of creating additional ones. The interesting feature is that, rather than stipulating how many were to be either cavalry or infantry, he focused on the communal aspect: two were to be Muslim, three were to be Hindu (in which number he included Sikhs), and one was to be Eurasian—composed of, and officered by, men of mixed English and Indian parentage. He thought that the inclusion of a Eurasian unit, whose loyalty to the Empire was thought to be firmer than that of a purely Indian unit, would be additional insurance against disaffection. To further guard against this, the six Indianizing regiments were to be posted singly in six large military cantonments. Isolating Indianizing units in this way, amid large aggregations of British-officered units, would mean that any disaffection or open rebellion on the part of the Indianizing unit could be sharply dealt with by the other units in the cantonment. The method of introduction he proposed was identical to that proposed by Chesney thirty years before. In advancing this plan, Craddock did not rule out earlier plans. In particular, he liked Creagh’s Imperial Bodyguard scheme. Craddock thought this could be implemented concurrent to his own plan, to benefit graduates of the ICC who aspired to a military career. 23 Charles Roberts, the Under-Secretary of State for India, raised the matter in Whitehall. He did so with the approval of Crewe, who argued that the “ . . . question of commissions . . . [for Indians was] . . . more intimately bound up with the war than any other.” The war offered an opportunity, through first-

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hand experience, to see how Indian troops fared in battle, and to ascertain whether they had the requisite combat leadership skills to warrant being given King’s commissions. He therefore thought it prudent to do some preliminary spadework on the Indianization issue, as he believed it “a good deal more self-contained” than most of the other matters the Indian government would be called upon to tackle. In particular, he wanted to use the issue to determine to what extent London could impose its will upon New Delhi. Roberts was fully aware that any change in the basic command structure of Indian Army units—which commissions for Indians most definitely was— would ultimately require War Office consent and cooperation. He therefore suggested that an Indianization plan be worked out to be presented to the War Office in advance of making any moves toward implementation. Though Roberts thought any Indianization plan adopted in the future would have to provide for the training-up of Indian Officers, he preferred, for the present, to concentrate upon providing military careers for the sons of princes and aristocrats. He offered two reasons for this: that men of the Indian Officer class had not had anything like the technical and professional training that KCOs required; and that “ . . . their present position of subordination to British officers in the regiment is calculated to impair any initiative or leadership they may have originally possessed.” 24 Roberts thought the Indianization plan the India Office presented to the War Office should be based on the memoranda of Creagh and of General Sir Bindon Blood 25—both submitted after the start of the war—as well as the scheme advanced by Sir Theodore Morison in his 1899 book Imperial Rule in India. Blood’s memo dealt only peripherally with the question of commissions for Indians. During his long service with the Indian Army, Blood had become aware of the strong desire of Indian princes to have their sons serve as officers in His Majesty’s Army, which he lauded as highly desirable. As for implementation, Blood favored a system similar to the German one-year volunteer system, in which “educated and well-off young men could enlist for a single year only.” After their one-year service, these officers would pass into the reserve as officers. 26 Thus it would provide an outlet for Indians of princely and gentlemanly lineage who desired military service. Blood was, however, against appointing Indians, whatever their social rank, to British units serving in India. He felt that this would surely destroy, or at least seriously undermine, British prestige vis-à-vis Indians, upon which the whole edifice of their rule over India was based. 27 In contrast, Creagh wrote his memo to try to break the impasse on the matter, the settlement of which the war had made more urgent as well as more easy, by the fact of providing concrete data on military leadership. Bluntly stated, Creagh argued that the war had made the necessity of early special training and education for officers clear to Indians. Only a full-scale Sandhurst-type institution, in India, to train Indians to receive the King’s

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Commission could achieve this, as it would assuage the disappointment felt by holders of HMNILF commissions, who had found that their training in the ICC had led nowhere. It is clear from this that Creagh was concerned with the Indian aristocracy of the martial races. India, he thought, would warm to aristocratic Indian higher officers. “India,” he asserted, “is an aristocratic country, and these petty nobles are looked up to by the peasantry, and in those provinces which I know best, exercise an enormous influence when they wish to do so.” 28 For the demands of the “unwarlike castes”—the Brahmins, Bunniahs, Kayasths, and Vaids—Creagh had little use. According to him, men of these castes were quite aware that they were not fit for military service. So then why did they even bother to make such a demand? The problem, as Creagh saw it, was that they had been encouraged to do so by the promise of employment for Indians, without regard to racial background, in British Indian administration, that had been the cornerstone of Queen Victoria’s 1858 Proclamation. Thus, “ . . . to the unwarlike castes, the grievance . . . [was] . . . a purely sentimental one.” 29 But if the Indian aristocracy was to be catered to, Creagh argued that Sandhurst training was definitely out of the question. The Indian aristocracy, he asserted, being bound strictly to their religion, would balk at sending their sons to England at a tender age. They feared—not without justification, in Creagh’s opinion—that exposure to Europe at a young age would destroy within their sons respect for family traditions and religion. This is why Creagh thought the only acceptable solution was to establish an Indian military college. Creagh wanted to solve the ICC problem once and for all, while at the same time satisfying the military aspirations of the martial races. Therefore, the military college he envisioned consisted of two streams: one would provide for youths of the martial races interested in pursuing a military career as officers in the regular Indian Army; the other was to be for the scions of Princely India, and other nobles, who wanted careers either in the administration of their own native state or in the State forces of their own principality. In neither stream was selection to be based on open competitive examination. Candidates for the professional stream were to be nominated by the CinC India, and approved by the Viceroy. A similar procedure would hold for the princely and noble candidates, the difference being that the submission of names for consideration would be undertaken by the Indian government’s Foreign Department. To ensure that the college would maintain a proper and professional military standard, Creagh stipulated that it come under the supervision of the General Staff Branch of Army Headquarters, Simla. On the question of posting the professional stream of Indian commissioned officers, Creagh recommended that a special regiment be raised, which would be officered exclusively from the professional stream. Creagh added that the reason he did not resurrect his old idea of forming the special regiment by simply adding two cavalry squadrons to the Deoli and Erinpura squadrons, was that these had been disbanded upon

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the start of the war in 1914. The regiment would not be organized on a class or class company basis, as Creagh felt that this would limit the caste intake. Thus, he proposed that men of all martial castes be “promiscuously mixedup,” as in the old Bombay Army. Regarding the regiment’s own deployment, Creagh believed that it could easily be brigaded with either British or “native” regiments. 30 Sir Theodore Morison, a respected Anglo-Indian educationalist who had been Principal of the Mohammedan Anglo-Oriental College at Aligarh, and a member of the India Council, had adumbrated a scheme for commissioning Indians in his 1899 book Imperial Rule in India, which Charles Roberts thought was worth considering. Morison suggested the formation of something which he called “The Imperial Guards.” This would be a small group of three regiments—one Muslim, one Hindu and one Sikh—officered by Indian princes and aristocrats, and manned, of course, by Indians. 31 Morison’s idea appealed to Roberts for three reasons. Funnelling Indian higher officers into only three regiments would limit the experiment. Roberts figured that the prestige of a Guards Regiment, personally loyal to the King-Emperor, would appeal greatly to the Indian aristocracy and to Indian public opinion; and that this would avoid any appearance of segregation and inferiority. 32 It was imperative to Roberts that Delhi be given a set of agreed recommendations, as a solid start. However, getting these recommendations would require the attention of a “strong” India Office committee. Because the India Office was overstretched during wartime, the “need for fuller experience of wartime factors” made this very difficult, Roberts argued that the most practicable course was to propose that Delhi and Simla adopt the plan recently proposed by Barrow and Holderness. This envisioned that the Government of India, with the Army Council’s consent, nominate young Indian men, educated either at an English university or public school, to take the officer-training course that was then being offered at Quetta. Both Holderness and Barrow thought that education in England would better suit the Indians to Quetta and mess life. Six of those nominated would be admitted to the Quetta course, their selection being based on their performance in a qualifying examination held in India. Upon completion of the Quetta course, the six would receive King’s Commissions as second-lieutenants. Roberts liked this plan. It was not big in scope, so there was no chance of alarming anyone, either at the War Office, Army Head Quarters India, or among the “old India hands” still hanging about. Roberts hoped that this might indeed camouflage the fact that, if approved, the scheme would be a start in breaking down the color bar in the Indian Army, something that most authorities in the Indian Government and the India Office had become convinced was necessary. 33 Crewe thought it worthwhile to propose the Holderness-Barrow plan to the War Office. But he was anxious to avoid failure, especially considering what he called the “ . . . rather hopeless conclusion . . . reached after the

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discussion in India in 1911–12.” He therefore suggested that, as a precaution, Indian authorities ought to first ascertain that there were young Indian men out there who possessed the educational and racial qualifications necessary for any of the schemes that Roberts referred to in his letter. 34 Austen Chamberlain’s assumption of the India portfolio in May 1915 was a result of the first coalition which Asquith formed as a consequence of the disastrous Gallipoli campaign. 35 The changeover and the ongoing war crisis meant the Barrow-Holderness scheme never got much of a hearing. However, Crewe’s fear that Chamberlain would let Indianization languish proved unfounded. This does not seem to have been due to any genuine desire on the part of the new India Secretary—rather he was goaded into action by questions within his own department as well as in the Commons. Early in July 1915, “a young Indian of good family” informed Stuart Samuel at the India Office that Indians were barred from holding commissions in the British Expeditionary Force (BEF), even in the Indian contingents. To verify the truth of this, Samuel wrote to the War Office. If it indeed were true, Samuel suggested that it would be a “ . . . graceful act at the present time to grant some temporary commissions to native young men even though it might be inadvisable for reasons of state to give permanent ones.” Samuel added that a flat denial of commissions would “ . . . be most galling to these young fellows,” and that their resentment would make them “disaffected and socialistic.” 36 In the Commons question time on July 14, 1915, Chamberlain was asked if the bar preventing Indian princes or aristocrats or their sons from holding second-lieutenancies in the Army still obtained and, if it did, whether he, as the Secretary of State, was prepared to give careful consideration to the matter, to see if it could be overturned. Though assuring the questioner that he had an open mind on the matter, Chamberlain replied that, as he had only been at the India Office a short while, he had not the time to familiarize himself with the contours of the debate. Examining the matter seriously over the next two weeks, Chamberlain detected a definite consensus developing between the India Office and the Government of India to the effect that the time was indeed ripe to grant King’s Commissions to Indians. These Indians would, however, have to be selected with the utmost care. New Delhi, for its part, thought the grant of commissions all the more imperative due to India’s large and sustained contribution to the Imperial war effort. In view of this, Chamberlain thought it was necessary to reopen discussions with the War Office on this matter. 37 Chamberlain rejected the Barrow-Holderness plan outright. To him, it could only be a temporary wartime expedient, as both officers’ training facilities at Quetta and Wellington were set to close once the war was over, at which time the training of officer cadets for the Indian Army at Sandhurst would resume. He concluded that there were two complementary ways to

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proceed. The first option entailed granting King’s Commissions in the Indian Army to carefully selected graduates of the ICC. The second option was to select, without the basis of an examination, Indian youths for officer training. The ones who showed promise by doing well would be posted to Indian regiments. 38 The question Chamberlain found most thorny was that of the actual training of Indians for King’s Commissions. Some on his staff preferred the setting up of a military college in India itself to train Indian cadets. Foremost among these was Lord Islington, 39 Under-Secretary at the India Office, who favored an Indian institution partly out of a desire to appease Indian public opinion and partly because of the “social difficulties” he thought Indian cadets would face in the United Kingdom. To Islington, whether Indian officer cadets would train in India or in England was a “burning question.” 40 More particularly, Islington enumerated five reasons why he favored the Indian Sandhurst route. Firstly, he felt that sending Indian cadets to Sandhurst would not satisfy Indian opinion to the same degree as an Indian Sandhurst would. “The desire for Indians,” he held, “is to see India gradually furnished with the provision for indigenous training.” He was also of the opinion that, if the concession of King’s Commissions to Indians were indeed made, it should be comprehensive, and “ . . . leave no grounds for complaint.” Secondly, Islington believed that Sandhurst training would place an impediment upon the field of selection of Indians who wished to gain the King’s Commission. Many more parents, he felt, would send their sons to an Indian college than they would to Sandhurst. Thirdly, he was afraid that, at Sandhurst, racial prejudice would be such that the British cadets would not treat the Indian cadets as comrades. Consequently, “ . . . rather glaring social distinctions would appear” which would, no doubt, “ . . . implant chips on the shoulders of Indians.” Fourthly, there was the possibility that some Indian cadets, if at Sandhurst, would socialize with English women and, in some cases, even marry them and remain in the United Kingdom after the end of their course at Sandhurst. Besides the obvious racial reason why Islington was alarmed about the prospect of marriage between Indian men and English women, he also felt that the possibility of these men remaining in England would mean that they would want postings in the British, as opposed to the Indian, Army. This, to Islington, would defeat the whole purpose of the concession, which was to provide Indian KCOs for the Indian Army. Finally, Islington felt that, for purposes of control, it was better to train Indian cadets in India, rather than in England. 41 Islington believed it would be quite easy to establish a military college in India. After all, had not officer-training facilities been quickly set up at Quetta and Wellington to meet the Indian Army’s demand for officers during the present hostilities? He contended that, since Quetta existed as the Indian counterpart to Camberley, it would be only logical to establish an Indian

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counterpart to Sandhurst. Moreover, the infrastructure for an Indian military college was already present, in the form of the ICC buildings at Dehra Dun. With a few modifications, these could easily be converted to house a fully fledged military college. Establishing a military college in India would be “unreservedly acceptable” to Indians as due recognition of wartime services. Moreover, he felt that “ . . . doing it now, before the agitation becomes urgent will enable the Government with greater ease to commence on a modest and tentative basis.” As Chamberlain did not really have a prior background in matters Indian—apart from having chaired, at Crewe’s invitation, a Commission on Indian finance in 1913 42—he wrote to Hardinge, before the end of May 1915, asking for the Viceroy’s thoughts on what questions were likely to come up in India after the war was over. By August, Hardinge had prepared a memorandum on the subject. 43 Hardinge was convinced that India’s wartime service on multiple fronts would mean that the Indianization issue would possibly be revived in an “acute” form at the end of the war. Before committing his ideas on the topic to paper, he asked Duff, now the CinC India, for his opinion. Though Duff confessed that he had never liked the idea of King’s Commissions for Indians, if it had to be done, there was, to his mind, only one way to proceed with it. If it were to have any chance of success, an Indianization scheme had to “ . . . find fit men who . . . [would] . . . accept the Army as a serious career, and not merely as a question of social status.” Success, as Duff saw it, depended upon three essentials: a nomination system, “so that clever young men of the non-fighting races may be excluded”; the Sandhurst course, which, to enter, the nominated candidates would have to pass an entrance examination in India; and finally, the education of “British soldiers to take orders from these men not merely in peace, but in the stress of war.” Duff thought the last of his essentials would be the most difficult to attain. It could not be effected simply by appointing Indian KCOs to Indian regiments which, he contended, would “ . . . never teach British troops that they must, in all circumstances, accept the orders of these officers of Indian races as implicitly as they would those of British officers.” As a remedy, Duff essentially advanced the same plan that he had earlier proposed in 1910, when he was the India Office’s Military Secretary, which favored the Indian aristocracy. 44 Though Hardinge agreed with Duff’s “essentials,” and thought that the CinC’s plan would not be difficult to implement, he thought it was useless, because, tailored as it was for the Indian nobility, Duff’s plan would not even begin to be acceptable to the vast majority of Indian public opinion. Although the only existing biography of Hardinge states that “Hardinge valued and respected the native aristocracy,” he did not seem very sympathetic regarding their claims for King’s Commissions. Indeed, he viewed their desire for military employment as dilettantish. Besides, he was arrogantly con-

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fident that members of ruling families would be “ . . . quite unable to pass the ordinary Sandhurst examination.” 45 Hardinge proposed a change in the parameters. No longer did he wish to consider the issue of Army commissions from the point of view of a concession to the Indian aristocracy. He contended that the classes that desired a serious military career were to be found rather lower down on the social scale than the Indian nobility. The people whom he had in mind were the Sikh Sirdars, the Punjabi Maliks, and the Oudh Taluqdars, whom, he thought, might be eager for Army commissions, if offered the chance. And though men from these classes were his first preference, Hardinge significantly did not rule out professional middle-class Indian men, who, having gained a modicum of status through success in their professions, would, he reasoned, be eager to gain more through commissions in the Army. Indeed, Hardinge revealed that he had a rather wide conception of the martial races, which led him to think that, especially in northern India, professional men were not entirely un-martial. But here too, political considerations were foremost in Hardinge’s mind: “Even if not numerous, they have strong political interests, and will make their views heard and will have a highly educated intelligence to support their demand.” Hardinge felt that the two classes of Indians who would most likely desire the career of an army officer would not warm to Duff’s plan, as their demands, as reported in the “Native” press, centered on military education in India leading to service with the Indian Army. It was these demands that Hardinge attempted to meet. The plan he devised sought to do this in the following five ways. First of all, he proposed that there be strict controls on who took the entrance exam. This was to be effected through a rigorous procedure of selection and nomination. Secondly, all the selected candidates would be obliged to pass the Sandhurst entrance examination, which was to be held simultaneously in India to that in the United Kingdom. Thirdly, an essential part of Hardinge’s plan was the establishment of a military college in India. As to the location of this facility, he offered two alternatives: the conversion of the now moribund ICC buildings; or making the temporary officers’ training school at Quetta permanent, and requiring all cadets for the Indian Army—both English and Indian—to go there instead of to Sandhurst. This, to Hardinge’s mind, would have a most beneficial effect upon the future leadership cadre of the Indian Army, by giving Indian cadets a better understanding of English ways and customs—thereby making it easier for them to socialize with British officers—and by giving the English cadets better opportunities for learning Indian vernaculars, and lessening the incidence of their racial prejudice toward Indians. Though, on the surface, this particular idea seems laudable, it ignored the fact that the permanent conversion of Quetta into a military college would mean that there would be no staff college in India for the higher professional education of Indian Army offi-

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cers. Thus, if Hardinge was looking for a suitable location for a military college—one that already had a training facility—he might have settled upon Wellington. That he did not might have been due to the fact that Wellington was located in the Madras Presidency—the heart of the “un-martial South.” Fourth, to maintain British standards of efficiency, Hardinge’s plan stipulated that the course as well as the evaluation process at the Indian military college be identical in nature. This would ensure the “free weeding-out” of any cadets deemed substandard, just as at Sandhurst. Indian cadets were therefore not to be coddled in any way. Clearly then, Hardinge wanted to distance himself from the princely cadets of the ICC, who, as we have seen, demanded, and received, special treatment. Finally, on the question of postings, Hardinge envisioned that, similar to the system then in operation for British officers of the Indian service, Indian KCOs, upon graduating, should do one year of probation with a unit of British infantry or cavalry stationed in India. At the end of this probationary period, successful Indian KCOs would obtain appointments to Indian units. Upon this last point, Hardinge was quite insistent: with the exception of the probationary year, Indian KCOs would never be placed in positions of command over British officers or soldiers. As the Indian KCO rose in rank through the service, he would either be posted to the staff or his own regiment. Upon attaining the rank of captain or major, he would, however, in the course of his duty, have to command a small mixed force of Indians and Britons. Thereafter, the Indian KCO was to be employed exclusively in staff posts, where commanding Britons would not arise. 46 At the end of August 1915, Hardinge duly circulated the completed memo to members of his Council, the heads of all the provincial governments, and the heads of all the provinces and territories of British India, for comment. On Indianization, the responses were varied. Although 14 respondents fully supported the Viceroy’s belief that there was a pressing need for something to be done regarding higher commissions for Indians, a majority of these (8) suggested modifications. Significantly, only two officials were completely against Indianization. A major bone of contention was the perceived effect Indianization would have upon British KCOs posted to Indian regiments. Sir Stuart Bayley, the Bihar and Orissa Lieutenant-Governor, and Sir Claude Hill, the Revenue Member, though completely supportive of Hardinge’s plan, thought that this constituted the real problem. Bayley was wary of Hardinge’s proposal to have British cadets study alongside their Indian counterparts at an Indian Sandhurst. Rather than promoting racial harmony, he thought that this would encourage a “damn nigger” attitude toward Indians, because the British cadets at an Indian Sandhurst would join at a young age, and would be too immature to appreciate the value of interacting with Indians, who were, after all, a different race. This attitude would not foster good relations with Indian cadets at the college, and would, in time, lead to a certain amount of difficulty in regimental situations. Hill, on the

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other hand, adopted an altogether harder tone in dealing with the problem. The prejudicial feelings of the British officer in the Army had to be rooted out, just as they had been among British officers on the civil side. Indeed, Hill believed that what had worked in the Indian Civil Service would also be effective in the Indian Army. “Inherently,” he wrote, “there is little greater difficulty in requiring that a qualified Indian who attains to Field Officers’ rank should exact obedience to orders than that an English Assistant Collector should take and obey orders from an Indian collector or commissioner.” 47 Craddock, who was part of the majority that favored modifications, basically advocated the adoption of his own six-unit plan which has been dealt with earlier in this chapter. He also expressed concern that prejudice would infect the Army. He could “conceive of nothing more fatal to the discipline of a regiment or to the political weal of the country than that racial feeling should grow up within the precincts of the officer’s mess.” Curiously, though, he did not seem to be unduly worried about this occurring in and of itself, but rather, because of the adverse publicity it was bound to generate. What Craddock was particularly concerned about was “ragging”—the “boisterous behaviour” (hazing rituals) that sometimes went on in regimental messes. Indeed, some British officers of prestigious regiments had gotten into trouble by subjecting Indians to brutal treatment, which had sometimes resulted in their deaths. In particular, Craddock mentioned Curzon’s 1902 experience with the 9th Lancers. But, overall, he seemed more worried about the effects that incidents like these would have upon Indian public opinion. “The effect in the Indian press of some rather serious ragging incident within a mess can be more easily imagined than described. There would literally be a howl for the punishment of the offenders and if the offenders were severely punished, there might be greater disaffection among the officers of the Army.” This theme was also touched upon by Sir Benjamin Robertson, the Central Provinces Chief Commissioner, who pointed out recent instances where English Royal Engineer officers refused to serve under Indian superintendents, and proposed implementing a scheme that resembled Lord Minto’s—a special regiment of Indian Guards, officered by ICC graduates. 48 Both Craddock and Robertson envisioned an Indianizing process that would be slow, measured, and, above all, cautious; whereas Adamson, the Lieutenant-Governor of Burma, favored a much more rapid advance. His view was that the current war made Indianization imperative. Hardinge’s plan was all well and good for the future, but Adamson pointed out that something needed to be done immediately to reward the Jemadars and Subedars who were so valiantly laying their lives on the line for the Empire on far-flung battlefronts. He therefore proposed that, simultaneous with training Indians for the King’s Commission, special battalions be raised that would be officered either by Indian Officers or junior Indian KCOs. This would be somewhat similar to the establishment of the Burma military police batta-

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lions, which, despite containing very few British officers, demonstrated a fair degree of efficiency. Adamson favored a linked-battalion system to introduce Indians to command responsibilities. Under this system, one battalion would be officered entirely by British officers, while the other would, from the outset, be officered entirely by Indian KCOs. Initially, the administrative and headquarters staff posts of this battalion would be manned by British officers. 49 As one who thought of himself as possessing a wide knowledge of, and acquaintance with, the “landed gentry” of northern India, Sir Michael O’Dwyer, the Lieutenant-Governor of the Punjab, was of the opinion that any scheme that was eventually adopted had to take into account the interests of this class, which he viewed as the main source of the “ . . . leading men of the martial races.” O’Dwyer maintained that he knew of rising resentment among members of this class at their continuing exclusion from what they considered to be the “honourable profession of arms.” O’Dwyer also disagreed with Hardinge on aspects of the training and posting of Indian KCOs. He perceived Sandhurst-training essential if the Indian KCO was to ever have the requisite prestige and bearing to command British officers and other ranks. Coming from a long career in the Indian Civil Service, O’Dwyer, quite liberally, thought that there was nothing wrong in posting Indian KCOs to as wide a number of Indian Army units as possible. His reasoning was that as this method was working in the ICS, why should it not work in the Army too? 50 Duff’s response to the memo focused on the ineluctable qualities of military leadership. He argued that the anticipated outcry at the end of the war that Indians be made eligible for King’s Commissions based on the Indian soldier’s record of service and gallantry during the war, was wrongheaded. Mere gallantry and bravery were not sufficient to make a military leader. What military commanders at all levels needed was initiative: “that special power of getting a grip on the men under one, which makes them believe in one and therefore ready to follow.” According to Duff, this was precisely the quality not exhibited by the Indian troops fighting in the present war. Lack of initiative was especially evident in the Imperial Service units. On the issue of the type of Indian to be deemed eligible for officer commissions, Duff clung to Anglo-Indian conventions. He held that the most vociferous demands for commissions would be made by the Princes and the Babu politicians, both unwarlike groups in Indian society. Indeed, he saw their motive as being that of self-interest. All the Babus wanted was commissions for their sons. Indeed, he seemed rather perplexed that they did “ . . . not admit or even recognize their own unfitness.” Duff reserved his most trenchant criticism for the important question of relations between British officers, British officered regiments (BORs), and Indian KCOs. Would the former two be willing to accept orders from the latter should the situation demand it? In peacetime,

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Duff considered that this would not be very difficult to achieve, but wartime was another story. In all wars, including the one then being fought, units tended to get mixed up in the heat of frontline action. The immediate duty of the officer was to establish his command over all the soldiers in the area that he could reach and organize, and lead them until the end of the fighting, at which time troops could revert to their original unit structure. In all this, the critical element was obedience to the commanding senior officer, by all junior officers and other ranks. He doubted that this would be easily achievable if the commanding senior officers happened to be Indians. He opined that it would be a very long time indeed before Indian commanding officers would be accepted by British soldiers. To help this process along, Duff was of the opinion that the introduction of Indian KCOs should be fully tested out in peacetime. This was because of the tendency of other ranks, when in battle, to reproduce their peacetime training “almost perfectly.” To suddenly introduce Indian higher officers in wartime would, in Duff’s mind, be pure folly. To “ . . . ask men, under heavy fire with their nerves on the raw edge, to entrust their lives to the judgement of an officer of a race under which they may not have been accustomed to work in peacetime is to ask too much.” Introducing Indian KCOs would also, according to Duff, negatively affect relations between the other ranks and officers within an Indian regiment. Given the “undisputed fact” that the Indian rank and file viewed their British officers as being fair and above petty intrigue, would they regard Indian KCOs in the same light, and would the Indian KCOs themselves be able to keep themselves aloof and impartial? Duff thought not. For all of the above reasons, he earnestly hoped that any measure for the Indianization of the Indian Army’s officer corps be dropped, for such a measure would only have the negative effect of lowering the efficiency of the Indian Army. 51 Syed Ali Imam, the Legal Member of the Viceroy’s Council, argued conversely, that not to do anything about Indianization would result in the Indian Army becoming inefficient. He reasoned that a flat refusal by London to even contemplate Indianization would rub salt into the wounds of martial race men who formed the bulk of the Army. The resentment thus felt by these men would surely militate against the efficient functioning of the Indian Army. 52 There is little evidence that Hardinge took the views of those officials who suggested modifications to his plan to heart, for the proposal he sent to the India Office, in October 1915, was unchanged from the one he had devised in August. 53 At the India Office, the mood was for immediate action. Chamberlain chided Hardinge for appearing to want to reserve the question of King’s Commissions for Indians until after the war. The India Secretary drafted a telegram telling the Viceroy that it would be politically expedient to grant King’s Commissions to two to three Indians holding HMNILF commissions—specifically Captain Amar Singh, Lieutenant Bala Saheb Daphlé, and

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2/Lt. Rana Jodha Jang—who were presently serving in the war, and who had demonstrated their military and social fitness to be KCOs. Besides being politically astute, Chamberlain held that a measure such as this would refute the “alleged” color bar which had become a talking-point in political India. And, reasoned Chamberlain, acting graciously now would be a much better course to follow than to prevaricate, only to be forced by agitation at a later date into making concessions. But he assured the Viceroy that, by proposing to commission the three HMNILF men as early as possible—say by January 1, 1916—he did not wish to pre-empt Hardinge’s postwar Indianization proposal. 54 Chamberlain forwarded the draft to the India Office’s Military Committee for comments. There, Sir Charles Egerton strongly recommended widening Chamberlain’s plan to include certain Indian Officers who had shown frontline leadership abilities in the absence of British officers in the present war. Although he was confident that very few of these men indeed would normally qualify for King’s Commissions, Egerton insisted that their inclusion in Chamberlain’s scheme was imperative, so as to placate the sensibilities of Indian ranks and Indian Officers on the battlefronts, as well as maintaining their morale. Egerton also suggested that those selected be as far as possible representative of the principal fighting classes of India. 55 Holderness made two observations. He agreed with Egerton’s point regarding selections representing all the most important martial races. To facilitate this, he proposed the selection of ten, rather than the two or three recommended by Chamberlain. He queried whether the fact that two of the HMNILF officers mentioned by Chamberlain were subjects of Princely India, as opposed to British India, would have any bearing on their eligibility for King’s Commissions. Holderness’s concern on this last point led him to make inquiries about it. From these, he gathered that the eligibility of Princely states’ subjects would indeed pose a problem. This was because the proscription in the Act of Settlement against non-British subjects holding military office took precedence over section 30 of the Government of India Act (1858), which enabled the Indian Government to appoint subjects of Princely India to high office. This meant that only honorary commissions, which did not carry any actual powers of command, could be granted. For the subjects of Princely States to receive substantive King’s Commissions, an amendment to the Government of India Act (1858) would have to be passed by Westminster; somewhat along the lines of clause 8(1) of the Government of India Amendment Bill, which stated that the Viceroy, with the India Secretary’s approval, was empowered to appoint “any named ruler or subject of any state in India . . . to any civil or military office under the Crown to which a native of British India may be appointed.” 56 Armed with this information, and also with the knowledge that, if Delhi was in favor of Chamberlain’s initiative, the India Office would have to let the War Office know that the some of the

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Indians up for commission were, technically speaking, aliens, Holderness fired off a note to the India Secretary’s Legal Advisor. He asked whether it would be safe to give a commission in the Army to a ruler or subject of a Princely state until the law was amended. The reply was swift and to the point—it would not be safe. 57 Meanwhile, Chamberlain decided to send Hardinge a private letter on Indianization, to underline the importance of this measure. In it, he argued that the Indian Army merited special recognition in view of its service to the Crown in the present war, and because the loyalty and contentment of the Indians who formed its rank and file, as well as their continued goodwill toward the British, had become even more important to Anglo-India than they had been before, and therefore had to be carefully nurtured. In what amounted to a rousing defense of the claims of the martial races, the India Secretary warned that Indians serving in the Army must never be told: For you, there can never be any opening or advancement or authority in your profession. If you have ambition, you must join the lawyers or the talkers or the politicians. Elsewhere you . . . may rise to the highest posts. You may sit in the council of governors, you may preside over services largely officered by Europeans. You may hear appeals from English judges and reverse their decisions. All these things you may do if you are civilians and you belong to the talking classes. But if you are fighting men and join the Army, there is no career open, even to the most brilliant of services. 58

Chamberlain followed this up a day later with an official telegram to Hardinge on the subject. It elaborated all the major points of his draft telegram, and took into account the comments by Egerton and Holderness. Early action on Indianization was desirable, due to the service of Indian troops in the present conflict. He emphasized that the commissions to be granted would be few in number; that they were to be granted in Indian regiments (preferably those in which the conferees were already serving); and he highlighted the importance of the “graciousness” factor. The India Secretary also informed the Viceroy that War Office assent had to be procured in the case of those conferees who hailed from the Princely states, showing that he clearly had the ICC graduates in mind. He trusted the proposal would meet with Delhi’s quick approval, for he wanted to announce it officially on New Years’ Day, 1916. 59 Hardinge believed absolutely that a concession regarding Indians’ eligibility for King’s Commissions had to be made, and he could think of no better way of initiating this than by the method suggested by Chamberlain. But Hardinge urged that the essential preliminary step would be to immediately push through legislation at Westminster to amend Section III of the Act of Settlement so as not to disbar aliens from holding regular army commissions. Hardinge deemed this imperative because, if this were not done, the

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field of selection for any future Indianization scheme would be severely curtailed, as most of the officers presently holding HMNILF commissions, as well as many Indian Officers who included among their number Sikhs from the Phulkian States, and Rajputs from the principalities of Rajputana, would find themselves legally excluded. 60 The Viceroy also thought that, besides the fact that the measure, as conceived by London, would “give satisfaction,” it would also ease pressure, thereby giving time to discuss and formulate a proper scheme to govern the granting of King’s Commissions to Indians. 61 It does not seem to have occurred to the Viceroy that any shortfall that could arise from the ineligibility of these classes could have been ameliorated by selection from other classes of Indians. Then again, the fact that these classes might be un-martial would have weighed decidedly against them. In view of Duff’s earlier opposition to commissioning Indians, Hardinge thought it essential to bring the General “on-side,” and consequently wrote to him in the most conciliatory terms. Given Chamberlain’s determination for prompt action on the matter, Hardinge explained to Duff that the Government of India’s hand was likely to be forced, whether Duff liked it or not, by the India Office. The tactical appeal of forestalling pressure by agreeing to certain concessions at the present time was undoubtedly great. As the Viceroy saw it, an early concession was advantageous; it would momentarily silence agitation, and it would strengthen the India Secretary’s position, so that he could insist with greater force the deferment of any expansion of Indianization until after the end of the war. If Duff agreed to this, then Hardinge would tell Chamberlain that the GoI was ready to grant full King’s Commissions to four HMNILF officers presently serving on the battlefronts who were subjects of British India. Though this measure would have to pass through the Army Council and secure Cabinet approval, Hardinge was sure that a recommendation of this kind emanating from Delhi would be helpful to Chamberlain. 62 Somewhat cowed by Hardinge and Chamberlain, Duff wrote to the former that he would protest no further. Indeed, he was pleased that Chamberlain had singled out the Indian Army as especially meritorious. However, the CinC did have some reservations regarding the Viceregal selections. He thought that Aga Casim Shah and Malik Mumtaz Mohammed Khan were both “excellent, reasonable” choices. Yet Khan Mohammed Akbar Khan and Aga Murtaza Khan were not, each for entirely different reasons. Mohammed Akbar, though wealthy, was of low birth and, before the war, had had a “swaggering manner.” 63 The CinC was loath to recommend him unless he had “shaped up” in France. Aga Murtaza Khan, on the other hand, was related to Aga Casim Shah, and both were close relations of the Aga Khan. Duff thought it would be impolitic to grant two relatives of the Aga Khan King’s Commissions, while ignoring the claims of communities more numerous in India than the Ismailis. Duff pointed out that all the HMNILF officers recommended by Hardinge were Muslim. To initiate such an impor-

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tant departure in policy as Indianization in such a manner would surely arouse the resentment and anger of the Hindus, who, after all, formed the vast majority of the Indian population. The political mileage the Indian Government hoped to accrue by making Indians eligible for the King’s Commission would be totally negated in an instant if some Hindus were not among those first selected to receive those commissions. To ameliorate this potentially problematic situation, Duff suggested that it might be better to first push through legislation at Westminster amending the Act of Settlement. This was because there were three Hindu HMNILF officers who were, in his opinion, eminently qualified for the King’s Commission, but were barred nevertheless because they were subjects of Princely states. One of these, Rana Jodha Jang, had even won the Military Cross. While attached to the 39th Garhwal Rifles, in November 1915, Jang exhibited great bravery under fire while leading an IST detachment as part of a feint attack “ . . . in the face of fierce fire from [German] rifles, machine guns, grenades, and bombs and was severely wounded in the neck.” For other such actions, he was “mentioned in despatches” in late 1915 and early 1916. 64 Though at the outbreak of war in 1914, Anglo-Indian officials had expected the widespread loyalty of Princely India, they were surprised by the fact that this was matched, if not outstripped, by the response of political India. In the Imperial Legislative Council, a resolution put forward by a nonofficial Indian member pledging India’s financial aid to the Empire at war was passed unanimously. Indian Members of the Legislative Council took the opportunity to express “ . . . their feelings of unswerving loyalty and enthusiastic devotion to their King-Emperor, and an assurance of unflinching support to the British Government.” Within two weeks of the declaration of war, Surendranath Bannerjea 65 organized a Town Hall demonstration in Calcutta to defend “ . . . those principles of right and justice which are the cement of Empires and which challenge a higher measure of homage,” which included offering service in defense of the Empire. Even The Mahratta, one of the more radical Indian newspapers, adopted a conciliatory tone, remarking that the “utilization of Indian troops [in Europe] is wise and useful not only from a military point-of-view; politically, it too is an act of courage and high statesmanship . . . ,” especially since “ . . . the people of India would have been disappointed if they had not been called upon to contribute to the British war effort.” 66 At the December 1914 session, held in Madras, the Indian National Congress confirmed “its profound devotion to the Throne, its unswerving allegiance to the British connection, and its firm resolve to stand by the Empire, at all hazards, and at all costs.” The Congress members heartily approved of, and were grateful for, the dispatch of the Indian Corps to France. It gave the people of India the opportunity to “fight shoulder to shoulder with the people of other parts of the Empire in defense of right and justice, and the cause of the Empire.” Taking into consideration the Indian

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peoples’ “equal rights of citizenship with the rest of the Empire . . . and their proven loyalty so unmistakably and spontaneously manifested,” the 1914 Congress’ resolution 6 urged Delhi to “throw . . . open the higher offices in the Army to Indians, and . . . establish . . . in the country military schools and colleges where they may be trained for a military career as officers in the Indian Army.” 67 The following two years, however, witnessed a sea-change in the Indian attitude. In a nutshell, political India became impatient with having to wait until after the end of the war for political reforms and advancement, while having to contribute an increasing amount of men and materiel to the Imperial effort in a war that seemed to be stalemated. The entry of the Ottoman Empire on the side of the Central Powers complicated things for Delhi. About 60 million of India’s 300 million people were Muslim, and, since the Ottoman Sultan was the Khalifah (spiritual head) of the world’s Muslims, Anglo-India was sensitive to the possibility that the loyalty of India’s Muslims to the King-Emperor could become compromised. More urgently, from the military-strategic perspective, in 1914 about 35.5 percent of the Indian Army was Muslim, and the most heavily recruited “martial race” throughout the war were the Punjabi Muslims. 68 In the Congress too, things were moving apace. Since the 1907 Surat split between the extremists and the moderates, the latter had controlled the Congress. Indeed, in early 1908, Bal Gangadhar Tilak, the leader of the Congress extremists, had been sent to jail in Mandalay. Upon his release, six years later, Tilak tried to gain readmission into the Congress for him and his extremist followers. This attempt, however, was foiled by the moderates led by Gokhale. 69 The following year—1915—the moderate opposition to Tilak began to subside, mainly because Gokhale and Pherozeshah Mehta, two of his most vociferous opponents, died. This culminated in a reconciliation between the Congress moderates and extremists. In that year too Tilak and Annie Besant, an English socialist who had come to India to help spread the message of Theosophy, organized Home Rule Leagues—populist vehicles for the Indian nationalist message. Through their deft use of newspapers, such as Tilak’s Mahratta and Kesari, and Besant’s New India, and publicity—which included mass meetings, vernacular pamphlets, posters, illustrated postcards, religious songs adapted for a political message, dramatic societies, reading rooms, and discussion groups—Besant and Tilak gained a mass following, especially when compared to the moderate Congress. Within a year of their founding, Tilak’s organization had 32,000 members, while Besant’s league had a membership of 27,000. Reconciliation within Congress was also paralleled by a convergence of aims and cooperation between Congress and the Muslim League. What brought this about was the League’s unease about being closely tied to a British-Indian administration that was fighting the Khalifah, and a determination by some of the League’s leaders,

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like Mohammed Ali Jinnah and the brothers Mohammed and Shaukat Ali, to push for further constitutional concessions, including some indication by the British that Indian self-government was their definite aim. These sentiments resulted in links being forged between the Muslim League and the Congress, culminating, in December 1916, in the Lucknow pact. 70 As a corollary to their demand for some movement toward Home Rule, both the Congress and the League renewed their demand for Indianization. The Lucknow Pact resolved that: “The military and naval services of His Majesty, both in their commissioned and non-commissioned ranks, should be thrown open to Indians and adequate provision should be made for their selection, training and instruction in India.” 71 Sir Satyendra Sinha made commissions for Indians a key part of his presidential address to the 1915 Congress. Sinha couched the Indianization demand within the context of the greater participation of all Indians in military service. He deplored the fact that, apart from the martial races, the vast majority of Indians were “ . . . debarred from receiving any kind of military training,” and that, even though martial Indians serving in the war could now obtain the Victoria Cross, “ . . . not one of them can receive a commission in His Majesty’s Army—irrespective of birth, education, or efficiency.” lacing himself squarely within the tradition of Italian Renaissance thinkers, such as Machiavelli, he maintained that, if India were to ever be on the road to selfgovernment, and if Indians were ever to be true citizens, if they were ever to regain their self respect, and “ . . . strengthen . . . [their] . . . sense of civic responsibility,” then they had to have responsibility for the defense of their own country. There was also a more practical consideration—if, in the course of the present war, Britain found it necessary to deplete its garrison in India in order to defend itself, then India, without training in arms or military leadership, would be at the mercy of any invader. It therefore followed that the Indian Government adopt the measures Congress had advanced in its 1914 resolution 6. Addressing the All-India Muslim League, Mazar-ulHaque was more forceful. According to Indian newspapers and Government of India official communiques, Indian Officers and INCOs were performing with great courage and valor, leading their troops when all their British officers had either been killed or wounded. If such men, who had no formal officer training beyond what they had picked up on the parade ground, were commanding troops in such dangerous frontline operations, Haque reasoned that this was proof positive of Indians’ military leadership skills, and that the time for admitting Indians into the commissioned ranks of the Indian Army had truly arrived. 72 Taking all these considerations into account, New Delhi and London embarked upon formulating political and constitutional reform for India that would ensure the continued collaboration of at least the Indian moderates. By the third week of November 1916, the Indian Government, now headed by

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Lord Chelmsford 73—who had taken over the Viceroyalty from Hardinge in April of that year—had finalized their proposals, in the famous “Reforms Despatch.” 74 In the Reforms Despatch, the Government of India recognized that India and the Indian Army could not stand aloof from the “ . . . great and important changes . . . ” that it thought would be “ . . . effected in the whole military system of the Empire as a consequence of the war.” 75 The dispatch acknowledged the war’s impact, by highlighting the need for Army reorganization that would radically alter India’s existing military system. One of these radical alterations that called for urgent attention was “whether or not the time has not come for opening to Indians British commissions in His Majesty’s Army.” Pushing Indianization through before the wars’ end might, the Government conceded, be opposed by British officers, the present generation of whom had grown up within and become used to the present system. Nevertheless, the Government felt that action on the issue could not be avoided any more. 76 At the root of this was the deployment of Indian forces in Europe at the start of hostilities. New Delhi conceded that Indian troops fighting in Europe had been exposed to new experiences and influences. For instance, they had seen just how quickly the ranks of their British KCOs had been depleted; and they had seen Asians in command of units of nations allied to Britain—Russia and France. Moreover, Indian troops on the Mesopotamian front had seen Turkish officers lead their men with more bravery and effectiveness than had the Indians’ own British officers. After having seen all this, it would be only natural for Indian soldiery to question their continued exclusion from the officer grades of the Indian Army. Although the Indian Government never mentioned it in this dispatch, the real reason for wanting to placate Indian troops was to make sure that more of their ilk would flock to the colors. Indian manpower was being gobbled up at an alarming rate. By the end of July 1916, 188,537 Indians had been recruited, and the continuing war meant that there was little chance of this demand diminishing. 77 New Delhi believed that positive action on Indianization would fall under three categories: rewards for meritorious services rendered by the Indian Army and the Indian people during the present war; “removing grievances, material or sentimental, which are felt to reflect upon the trustworthiness or self-respect of Indians”; and forward steps in political progress that the Government, in deference to Indian aspirations, thought it wise to recommend. Beyond this, the Government would not commit itself. It recommended that an announcement be soon made in Parliament regarding the admission of Indians into the King’s Commissioned ranks of H.M.’s Army, but that it be couched in general terms, using “words of caution.” It was therefore “impossible for . . . [it] . . . to submit . . . at this stage any detailed and considered scheme for carrying out this most important recommenda-

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tion.” 78 Above all, the experimental nature of Indianization was stressed— the number of Indians admitted was initially to be very few, so as to avoid too rapid an advance which the Government thought would jeopardize the Indian Army’s efficiency. New Delhi also sought to deflect any nationalist criticism regarding the discrepancy of Indians in the civil administration, as compared to the military, by falling back on the old excuse that in the military “the consequences of a false step [were] more disastrous, the need of good leadership is more essential, the disciplinary relation between superior and subordinate is much more strict, and the social intercourse between men of different race in the same service necessarily closer, than is the case in civil life.” And even if a definite scale of admission was approved, the Government urged that the scale be tentative, “ . . . until practical experience has shown us how to secure the best material, how best to train it, and how best it may be utilised.” 79 In London, General Barrow, still the Military Secretary at the India Office, argued that the time had come for “frankly admitting the justice of opening a military career in the King’s commissioned ranks to educated Indians with good social status, fitted by birth, character, and mode of life to serve on equal terms with British officers.” 80 To him, paragraph 17 of the Reforms Despatch, in contemplating opening a higher military career to the sons of all Indians who had any sort of connection with the Indian Army, went far beyond Chamberlain’s initial suggestion of November 17, 1915, which practically proposed limiting the grant of Indian King’s Commissions to Indians with HMNILF Commissions who were serving with distinction in the present war. By implication, the Indian Government’s proposal necessitated a decision whether the “martial classes” could be relied upon to produce King’s Commissioned Indian officers capable of serving with British officers on equal terms. Since New Delhi seemed to be having a difficult time in coming to a definite conclusion on the matter, Barrow suggested that the Special Committee, which Chamberlain had set up at the India Office to consider the reform proposals in toto, should give New Delhi the lead by “ . . . indicating the direction and the extent of the concession that the Secretary of State for India would be prepared to accept.” Barrow recommended that the Special Committee read Sinha’s Presidential Address to the Congress session of 1915, which he believed correctly reflected educated Indian opinion on Indianization. 81 Clearly, Barrow realized the increasing utility of courting the opinion of the Indian intelligentsia in wartime. Barrow’s views prevailed in the Special Committee’s deliberations on Indianization. The committee members were strongly impressed by the need for early action of a definite nature. They were therefore unimpressed by New Delhi’s cautious proposals, which they concluded would greatly delay reaching any sort of decision on Indianization. In particular, they criticized the Indian Government for giving the impression that they would be quite

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happy to delay action on Indianization until after the war’s end, at which time the matter could be considered as part of a review of the whole Imperial military system. 82 Referring to the abortive attempt, in 1916, by the India Office to get the War Office to agree to grant King’s Commissions to certain selected Indians who had served with expeditionary forces, the Special Committee recommended that Chamberlain take the matter directly to the Cabinet, who should be asked to approve the principle of Indianization. In order to demonstrate sincerity, the Special Committee urged the Home Government to grant King’s Commissions to a small number of Indians selected by the India Secretary and the Viceroy. Essentially, this involved granting King’s Commissions to three or four Indians with HMNILF commissions, some of whom had been specifically mentioned by Chamberlain to Hardinge. And, to ensure that this would not be an isolated occurrence, the Special Committee was also in favor of establishing military colleges in India to train Indians for the King’s Commission. In recommending this course of action, the Special Committee maintained that their intention was not to embarrass either Chamberlain or the War Cabinet, but merely to expedite movement on Indianization. Chamberlain expressed some hesitation about taking the matter before the War Cabinet, pointing out that it was so over-worked that he was not very hopeful of gaining its support against strong opposition from the Army Council. What he wanted was a firmer commitment from New Delhi. He therefore resolved to send a “hastening and urging” memo to the Government of India based on a resolution of the Special Committee embodying its thoughts regarding Indianization. 83 To this the Special Committee was ready to comply, merely restating their Resolution No. 5. They felt that if the Government of India was unable to prepare “a detailed and considered” scheme for granting Indians King’s Commissions for some time, it was “very desirable” that New Delhi should immediately put forward a definite proposal on granting King’s Commissions to the individuals recommended the previous year (1916), or to any other suitable persons. In addition, it suggested that the India Secretary press New Delhi to “act speedily” on this issue, in advance of the rest of the reform measures that had been proposed. 84 Chamberlain sent the “hastening and urging” telegram to Chelmsford on February 5, 1917. He explained to the Viceroy that, although, he understood the difficulty of preparing a detailed scheme, he hoped that the GoI would at least try to produce one at the earliest time possible. In the meantime, the India Secretary urged that, in order to establish the principle as precedent, King’s Commissions be given to a few Indian Officers holding HMNILF, Honorary, or Viceroy’s Commissions. If Chelmsford favored this idea, and forwarded 10 to 12 such candidates, Chamberlain said he would try to push the matter through. Chelmsford replied that Army Headquarters India was at that very moment debating Indianization, and that he hoped to hear their

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thoughts in Council within the next few weeks. He let Chamberlain know, however, that his Council deprecated any early and piecemeal announcement of any reform measure in advance of a general announcement, on the grounds that an isolated announcement would only heighten Indian agitation, whereas the announcement of a comprehensive reform package would unite moderate Indian politicians, and bring them “on side.” 85 Upon learning of New Delhi’s reluctance to commit to a definite Indianization policy, the Special Committee suggested that the GoI be approached once more. First, reassurances should be given that the India Secretary was not intending to announce any reform other than those contained in the general body of the reforms dispatch. Second, the Special Committee urged Chamberlain to tell New Delhi that acceptance of the principle of Indianization required the assent of the Army Council and the War Office, which would be less difficult to secure if both these bodies were presented with a definite scheme, rather than the vague promise contained in the Reforms Despatch. 86 In his reply to New Delhi, Chamberlain stressed Indian factors, mentioning only in passing that the War Office would be amenable to Indianization if it were seen in the context of rewards for wartime service. Settlement of the Indianization issue was long overdue. The performance of Indian soldiery in the present war entitled “foremost consideration” of the issue. The obstacles to the framing of a general Indianization scheme—mentioned by the Indian Government in the Reforms Despatch—might, Chamberlain felt, result in an indefinite delay after the approval, in principle, of Indianization. During this delay, the likelihood of an increase of irritation and distrust of the Government on the part of Indians—especially those from areas of heavy Army recruitment 87 —would be great. On the other hand, a delay in announcing a detailed scheme might raise Indian expectations, thereby leading to extravagant and unfulfillable demands. Granting King’s Commissions to a few select Indians during wartime would, in Chamberlain’s opinion, inspire India’s confidence in the ultimate intentions of the Government. For all these reasons, Chamberlain urged the GoI to submit a general Indianization scheme within the next few weeks. London had to wait three weeks for a reply from the Indian Government. The plan it contained represented “ . . . the extreme limit of concessions” that New Delhi was prepared to undertake with respect to Indianization. Rather than submitting a detailed scheme, New Delhi’s proposal was a “ . . . scheme outlining policy regarding granting of King’s Commissions to Indians.” As such, the scheme concentrated on questions of eligibility and selection. New Delhi enumerated four classes of Indians as eligible to be selected for King’s Commissions. This had been arrived at in a meeting at Army Headquarters India, on 12 February 1917:

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Class A: Indian youths, who, by virtue of their “birth, character and education” would be able to attain the “highest military rank.” Class B: Indian soldiers who entered the Army through the ranks in the hope of becoming IOs, but who would require special education and training in order to qualify for British (i.e. King’s) Commissions. Class C: Indians presently holding either HMNILF, Honorary, or Viceroy’s Commissions, who have proven themselves in the field during the present conflict, and who were partially qualified to attain the King’s Commissioned rank. Class D: Indian Officers presently serving who have “ . . . rendered good and gallant service, but whose defective education and [advanced] age unfit [sic] them for the higher responsibilities which would devolve on them if they were given British Commissions. 88 New Delhi stated unequivocally that it attached great importance to socializing Indian Class A aspirants in “English habits, ideas, and codes of honour,” as well as in the complete mastery of the English language. The way to do this was to require that they be trained at Sandhurst, rather than at a military college in India, after which the Indian Government recommended that they “ . . . be eligible for British Commissions in the Home or Indian Armies on exactly the same terms as other cadets.” The GoI therefore recommended that 10 vacancies at Sandhurst be available on a yearly basis to Indians of Class A. The process governing the selection of Indian candidates was to be extremely stringent. Class A applicants would first have to be nominated by their Local Governments, from which the CinC would select, with the Viceroy’s approval, candidates to sit the Sandhurst entrance examination. This would be held in England, along the lines of the system then obtaining for the entrance examinations for the Indian Civil Service. The Indian Government felt that this stipulation would encourage Indian aspirants to acquire an English public-school education, which was thought to constitute valuable preparation for Sandhurst. The main aim of the process regarding Class A, as articulated by New Delhi, was to foster a realization among Indian KCOs that they belonged to an Imperial rather than a local army. The unsuitability of officer-training schools in India for Class A did not extend to Class B. The Indian Government attached great importance to the latter class, as it was the “backbone” of the Indian Army. 89 As regards the future training of this class, New Delhi decided to forward the proposal of the new CinC, General Sir Charles Monro, who had succeeded Duff in October 1916. 90 Monro recommended that no Indian non-commissioned officer be promoted to Indian Officer grade without first being trained to do so at Indian training establishments, admission to which was to be by selection after four years’ service in the non-commissioned ranks. At these schools, Monro recommended that the training curriculum be patterned after Sandhurst. Though most of the gradu-

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ates of these schools would be commissioned as Jemadars, a few truly exceptional cadets would be granted King’s Commissions. It was thought that such a concession would especially be appreciated by the “fighting classes now serving” on the various fronts, as it would “ . . . reassure them that their interests were not being sacrificed to benefit a better educated class whose military value has yet to be proved.” 91 On the subject of Classes C and D, the Indian Government had little to say. British Commissions were to be bestowed on a few members of the former, as a reward for frontline services in the present conflict. As for the latter, New Delhi recommended that men of that class would not normally be eligible for combatant King’s Commissions, apart from exceptional cases as a reward for outstanding frontline service. However, in order that they not “feel slighted,” the GoI recommended that one or two Indian Officers of each unit in the Army be granted Honorary King’s Commissions in the rank of Captain or Lieutenant, not upon retirement, as was then current practice, but while still serving. These honorary King’s Commissions would carry no substantive powers of command, but would bestow prestige on the holders, as well as increments in pay and pensions. 92 At the India Office, New Delhi’s proposals provoked differing responses. Barrow, the outgoing Military Secretary, thought that the proposals— especially as they pertained to Class A— highly dangerous, because they seemed to introduce the competitive element. Barrow feared that, once competition was conceded, Indian public opinion would agitate to open the competition to all Indian educated classes. This kind of pressure would be impossible to resist and, once the Government had yielded to it, the inevitable result would be the elimination of all men of good family of the fighting races from the army’s officer corps. Dominated by “unsuitable classes and unwarlike races,” the Indian Army would then cease to be an effective force, and the fighting races, effectively marginalized by the competitive ethos, would inevitably, in Barrow’s opinion, “ . . . drift towards sedition.” Barrow was also critical of New Delhi’s emphasis on training in England. It was a fallacy to think that most youths in Class A would have had access to an English public-school education. Those that did attend Sandhurst would find it exceedingly difficult to adapt to English conditions. Barrow was also unimpressed by Monro’s arguments. While not denying the importance of an English education for Indian Army officers, Barrow felt that the GoI had to consider the matter from the Indian point of view. Many Indian parents, Barrow contended, would certainly object to sending their sons to public schools in England, preferring instead to have their sons trained in India at Dehra Dun or at either of the cadet colleges at Quetta or Wellington. Referring to Lord Islington’s idea of 1915, Barrow proposed that such a scheme would work, if British cadets for the Indian Army were to spend their final term at a military college in India, where they could develop a feeling for

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their Indian confreres, and vice versa. Barrow was also critical of proposals relating to Class B. He did not think the training school idea for Indian Officers would bear fruit, because of his belief, firstly, that the Indian soldier was not capable of absorbing the Sandhurst curriculum and, secondly, that the imposition of the language requirement—English—would alienate them. 93 Lieutenant-General Sir Herbert Cox, 94 who had succeeded Barrow as Military Secretary at the India Office, took a more sanguine approach. Cox thought Class A was the linchpin, and that everything depended on “ . . . the success or failure of this class to justify their selection and subsequent promotion.” He agreed with New Delhi’s recommendations regarding the selection criteria and process, as well as the military education of Class A cadets, subscribing to the Anglo-Indian idea that instruction in England was essential to prevent pernicious Indian influences. Cox concurred too with New Delhi’s rejection of the proposal to open a cadet college in India after the war, arguing that it was impossible to open a military college to cater to the small number of Indian cadets that the GoI envisioned. He doubted, however, whether Indian nationalist opinion would be happy with the proposal, particularly with regard to the number of vacancies at Sandhurst, and to the fact that training was to take place in England. This notwithstanding, Cox held out the possibility that the limited number of Indian cadetships at Sandhurst could be expanded if the experiment was shown to be a success. The main problem with this, as with the initial ten vacancies, was securing War Office approval. 95 Chamberlain’s reply to the Indian Government’s proposal leaned more toward Barrow’s views. The whole tenor of New Delhi’s plan was, he felt, opposed to the accepted policy of developing general and specialized educational structures within India itself. Although he agreed that Indian cadets should enter the service from the same college as British cadets, he had serious doubts as to whether the conditions contained in the proposal—which stressed education at an English public-school preliminary to joining Sandhurst—would satisfy Indian opinion. Indeed, Chamberlain thought that these requirements would only serve to severely limit the field of selection, “ . . . as many [Indian] parents would object to sending their boys to England so young.” Chamberlain made no mention of the prohibitive expense of such an education. The India Secretary suggested a scheme similar to Barrow’s, namely that that “ . . . British cadets for the Indian Army should receive the latter part of their training now given at Sandhurst in [an] Indian college with Indian cadets.” Chamberlain also intimated that this would probably require changes to the period when newly commissioned officers remained on the unattached list, but he was confident that these could be effected without too much trouble. 96

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Chamberlain also objected to the GoI’s proposals regarding the Indian rank and file and Indian Officers. While he heartily approved of training for Indian Officers in special schools, he felt that the high standard of training envisioned by the GoI was unnecessary for Indian Officers, the vast majority of whom would never command beyond the troop or platoon level. Moreover, training Jemadars like British Lieutenants would only raise false hope that, when unfulfilled, would surely cause resentment. The India Secretary expressed the view that any scheme directed at improving the professionalism of Indian Officers had to provide two avenues of entry: direct commissions for sons of presently serving Indian Officers; and promotion from the ranks, supplemented by training at special schools. To ensure the Indian Army’s continued contentment, Chamberlain recommended that a large number of Indian Officers be procured through the latter route. 97 In his response, Chelmsford strongly defended New Delhi’s initial proposals. Regarding Class A, he maintained that the India Office did not understand “the scope and object” of his government’s proposals. The Indian Government’s reason for stipulating Sandhurst training for this class was to minimize the friction within Indian Army units that the introduction of Indian KCOs of Class A would surely cause. “[C]ommissions to educated Indians,” it intoned, “will be viewed with disfavor by most British officers and [would] provoke jealousy among Indian soldiery.” A deliberate and carefully considered process, that recognized various interests, was necessary to overcome these difficulties. Furthermore, “[t]he political advantages accruing from a hasty announcement might be nullified by the unfriendly reception of Indians in units and the bitterness and racial prejudice thus arising.” 98 The Government concurred with General Munro, the CinC, that the best guarantee for the elimination of racial prejudice was to give the young Indian cadet “ . . . such an education as will ensure their starting on their careers with the manners, ideas, and speech of an English gentleman.” New Delhi felt that the results would be workable the nearer this ideal was followed. The Barrow plan came in for special criticism by New Delhi, which reiterated that, apart from the fact that such a scheme would render training and instructional development impossible, its imposition would do irreparable harm to the essential notion that all KCOs, whether Indian or British, should feel that they belonged to one Army. Another reason for its rejection was that, in New Delhi’s thinking, the measure would give rise to the conception of the Indian Army as a local or inferior service. This was the very last thing that was wanted, seeing as the prestige of the Indian Army would already have been temporarily lowered by the introduction of Indian KCOs. As a further point, New Delhi reminded the India Office that Barrow’s plan would not sit at all well with British parents, who, having suffered numerous bereavements from 1914 onward, would “certainly object” to sending their sons to India at an even earlier age than had previously been the custom. On the other hand, the

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Indian Government contended that Indian parents, already accustomed to sending their sons to England, either for university or legal training, “ . . . could not reasonably object to having to go to Sandhurst.” So determined was New Delhi in support of its proposal, that it even offered to foot the bill of Class A Indian cadets at Sandhurst. 99 The only concession that the Indian Government was prepared to make was to relax the preliminary education requirements for Class A cadets, in that graduation from one of the Chiefs’ Colleges was accepted as the equivalent to English public-school education. 100 New Delhi contended that its aim, in notionally opening up the King’s Commission grade to Indian Officers, was to ensure that they were not neglected in order to benefit Class A. This was not to be a major part of policy—rather, it was to be contemplated as a minor “philanthropic project.” Nevertheless, New Delhi contended that its views on military schools for Indian Officers “represented educational ideals demanded by military progress.” 101 It held that the present war had demonstrated that a knowledge of English was of increasing value to Indian soldiery, who themselves had shown more of a facility in picking it up than had been previously supposed. The Indian Government’s Army Department also rejected London’s contention that INCOs and Indian Officers had no need for military training. 102 The experience of the ongoing war had proved that the heavy casualties, especially of officers, and sometimes from mere minutes of combat, had led to situations where Indian Officer platoon-commanders had to assume command of companies. “The failure of Native Officers as leaders in various occasions in the present war has been . . . due to their not having been trained in peace for the duties and responsibilities appertaining to higher rank.” 103 Chamberlain correctly anticipated that the main battle would be to secure War Office support for Indianization, and he was eager to approach that ministry as soon as possible. In the interests of presenting a united front, he was therefore prepared to accept the Indian Government’s proposal. He thought it only fair, however, to warn Chelmsford that War Office support would be very difficult to obtain unless it was made clear that Indian cadets passing out of Sandhurst would only be eligible for service in the Indian Army. Another difficulty he anticipated concerned the location of the training itself. As most of the British officers for the Indian army were, as a consequence of the war, being trained at Wellington and Quetta, Chamberlain thought it unlikely that room could be found at Sandhurst for Indian cadets at that time. 104 He therefore urged New Delhi to consider this and find an alternate training location should this difficulty materialize. The India Secretary also suggested to Chelmsford the desirability of occasionally nominating “older Indian youths” who were studying at English universities, under the regulations governing the grant of King’s Commissions to university candidates. Regarding Class B, Chamberlain accepted the Indian

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Government’s proposals “ . . . for the establishment of military schools for Jemadars.” He explained that his only objection to Sandhurst training was that, if applied literally, it would be inappropriate for Indian Officers. Nonetheless, from the standpoint of raising the professionalism and efficiency of the VCOs, he agreed that the proposal was of vital importance—especially in the current war. As for Class C, Chamberlain gave his full assent to the GoI’s proposals, and asked New Delhi for the names of the HMNILF officers that it was recommending for King’s Commissions. 105 The Government of India readily complied, recommending nine HMNILF officers for Kng’s Commissions in recognition of their wartime services. Lieutenants Zorawar Singh, Kanwar Amar Singh, Aga Cassim Shah, Khan Mohammed Akbar Khan, Malik Mumtaz Mohammed Khan, Kanwar Pirthi Singh, and Bala Saheb Daphlé were recommended for Captaincies, and Second-Lieutenants Rana Jodha Jang Bahadur and Kanwar Savai Sinhji were recommended as Lieutenants in the King’s Commissioned ranks. Delhi thought, in terms of its public relations, that these commissions, if approved, should be announced on the King’s birthday—a scant two weeks away. 106 All of the officers recommended had attended the ICC, and even the most junior had held HMNILF commissions for a decade. Despite this, the Army Department in New Delhi, at the insistence of CinC Monro, recommended that, though previous HMNILF service would be taken into account as far as the pensions of these officers was concerned, it would be disregarded when calculating their seniority and promotions in the Indian Army officer corps. In other words, even though the nine recommended officers had accumulated seniority in the HMNILF, they would enter the King’s Commissioned ranks as the most junior officers in their respective ranks. The reason for this backsliding is clear. What was important to New Delhi was War Office assent, and the GoI was prepared to compromise a little on details in order that this could be secured. Another way the Indian Government sought to placate the War Office was to state that the promotion of the endorsed officers would conform to the peacetime, rather than to the wartime, promotion schedule—even though the wars’ end seemed distant indeed in May 1917. 107 Cox discussed New Delhi’s recommendation when he met with the War Office’s Military Secretary on May 29. He came away disappointed. The War Office was obdurate. It would not agree to commissioning the HMNILF officers since it meant conceding the principle against which it had always fought—namely, equality in terms of powers of command between British and Indian KCOs. And even if such a concession were secured, the measure could not be rammed through in time for the King’s Birthday, which fell on June 4. 108 In the face of such inflexibility, Cox thought that the time for niceties was over. The War Office should be told in no uncertain terms that the time had come when the principle of allowing Indians into the King’s

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Commissioned ranks had to be conceded, and then be asked to approve the grant of King’s Commissions to the nine HMNILF officers, prior to the working out of an Indianization scheme which could be carried on at leisure. 109 Hirtzel agreed with Cox, and suggested that a formal letter be sent to the War Office, urging its quick agreement to the principle of Indianization. At the same time, he suggested that Chamberlain, as Secretary of State, put it before Cabinet, in order to bypass the War Office bureaucracy. Chamberlain, for his part, wanted very much to try for War Office approval in time for the King’s Birthday Gazette, and thought informing the King directly would help. In the formal letter, which was sent on June 1, Chamberlain adopted a firm but conciliatory tone. He explained that he was “ . . . convinced that the time ha[d] arrived when the principle of the granting of King’s Commissions to Indians must be admitted.” 110 He enumerated four essentially pragmatic reasons why he felt this way. First and foremost was the fact that, due to the unprecedented attrition caused by the war, it was becoming increasingly difficult to supply British KCOs in numbers sufficient to officer Indian Army units. Second, but no less important, was the detrimental effect that the racial bar was having upon Indian Army recruiting. Though the India Secretary did not go into the details of this in his letter to the War Office, he had, two months earlier, received a telegram from the Army Department in New Delhi, to the effect that, in order to provide incentives to influence Indians to assist in the raising of the Indian labor corps—which the Government of India had undertaken to provide the War Office for use on the Western Front—certain of the sons or near relatives of ruling chiefs who either had raised whole corps, or had furnished a sizeable quota of men for them, should be granted honorary King’s Commissions. 111 As was the case with the Cooch Behar affair 20 years before, pressure for this concession came from an Indian prince, the Maharaja of Orchha. 112 In their request, the GoI made it quite clear that the granting of such commissions would be strictly limited, and would only be conferred after an adequate quota of men had been actually provided. Thirdly, Chamberlain reminded the War Office of the increasing and widespread clamor in India itself for higher military employment, which, to his mind, was only natural, since India had contributed very significantly to the Imperial war effort. 113 Finally, while the India Secretary wanted to make it clear to the War Office that Indianization’s time had come, he wanted to reassure the War Office that it would not result in any immediate and drastic changes to the Army in India’s command structure. Specifically, he stated that, although Indianization would open up the very real possibility that Indians would be placed in positions in command of Britons, this would be a gradual process, initiated at a very small scale and carefully monitored thereafter. Chamberlain hoped that such assurances would allay the War Office’s apprehension, and result in not only their agreeing to the principle of Indianization, but also

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to their approval of the grant of King’s Commissions to the nine HMNILF officers. Regarding the latter, Chamberlain suggested that the easiest way to integrate them into the Indian Army’s officer corps would be to initially post the nine to the Unattached List, and then to gazette them to the Indian Army. 114 Chamberlain was, by now, firmly committed to initiating Indianization with the grant of King’s Commissions to the nine HMNILF officers. In order to smooth the way, he had asked New Delhi whether any of the nine recommended officers were subjects of native states, and what legislation would be necessary to make them eligible for the King’s Commission. Five of the nine were indeed subjects of native states. According to the ruling in India Office Letter M2339, of March 14, 1912, the grant of King’s Commissions to anyone who was not a British subject was technically illegal, but Section 3 of the Government of India Amendment Act of 1916 effectively negated this provision by empowering the CinC “ . . . to declare by [formal] notification that these officers were eligible for appointment to any military office that a British Indian was entitled to.” 115 Therefore, the GoI stipulated that the grant of King’s Commissions to the five would have to be made simultaneously with the notification under the 1916 Act. 116 In view of the anticipated delay in procuring War Office assent, Chamberlain requested from the Indian Government a list of Honorary Commissioned officers it wished to recommend for the King’s Commission, in time for an announcement simultaneous to the one abolishing the bar on Indians in the KCO ranks. 117 Chelmsford replied to this on June 16, stating, on the advice of his Army Department, that though he was unable to make recommendations of a general policy nature at present, either for Honorary or Viceroy Commissioned Officers, his Government was willing to consider the claims of Honorary Commissioned Officers who had served creditably during the war on an individual basis. As for Indian Officers, he suggested that, if immediate action were needed, a step up in rank might be suitable. Regarding the former, he explained that difficulties would be encountered in granting them King’s Commissions. This was because most of them were either princes 118 or men connected with the families of ruling princes and, as such, the Indian Government had “ . . . never contemplated the grant of regular [King’s] Commissions to Ruling Chiefs save in very exceptional circumstances.” 119 Besides, this, the Government of India argued that granting regular King’s Commissions to Honorary Commissioned officers would place them in an awkward position, since very few of them had received any sort of professional training. As for Indian Officers, Chelmsford held that the only way to proceed would be to take all of the martial classes into account. This would necessitate collating references and recommendations from General officers in theaters where the Indian Army was then deployed: France, Mesopotamia, Egypt, and East Africa. The time it would take to gather this

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information would, in the Viceroy’s opinion, preclude early recommendations of the kind Chamberlain had requested. Above all, Chelmsford stressed the importance of securing Cabinet approval before any such inquiries were made, as he believed that, however confidentially the inquiries were conducted, their purpose would soon be widely known to the rank and file of the Indian Army. Cabinet rejection of Indianization proposals after inquiries had been initiated would adversely affect the delicate political standing of the Raj. More importantly, Chelmsford felt that it would be detrimental to discipline within the Indian Army if the hopes and expectations raised by such inquiries turned out to be false. 120 Upon receiving this news, Cox determined that there was no point in trying to sway New Delhi. The course of action to follow, therefore, “ . . . as regards acceptation [sic] of the principle by the Army Council” was “ . . . for the time being [to] rely on the proposal to grant King’s Commissions to the 9 officers of the Indian Land Forces.” He informed Chamberlain that he had phoned War Office officials requesting their opinion on this, and that he was hopeful that they would reply within the next three or four days. 121 Cox’s expectation of a prompt War Office reply was doubly over-optimistic—their response only came on July 5, and it was unfavorable. Essentially, the Army Council was “ . . . not prepared to take the responsibility of advising . . . ” the grant of King’s Commissions to Indians because it would “ . . . entail a great risk from a military point of view in that it involved placing native Indian [higher] officers in a position where they would be entitled to command European officers.” 122 Furthermore, the Army Council suggested deferring the whole question until after the war, when it could be considered as an integral part of issues affecting the Indian Army as a whole. Though, on the surface, the War Office and the Army Council seemed solidly intransigent, Holderness, doubtless drawing on Hirtzel’s earlier idea of bypassing the War Office entirely, nevertheless detected, in their words, a window of opportunity. Reading somewhat between the lines, he pointed out that the War Office “letter may be read as implying a suggestion that the Cabinet, by taking the matter into its own hands, should relieve the Army Council of responsibility.” 123 Chamberlain, an experienced politician, jumped at the chance. By July 10, he had written a memorandum on the grant of King’s Commissions to Indians, which he intended to circulate to the Cabinet for a decision. Explaining that his reason for approaching Cabinet was necessitated by the War Office’s long-standing opposition to Indianization, due to its unwillingness to allow Indians powers of command over Europeans, Chamberlain maintained that the rise of genuine military aspirations in India as a result of the war, added to the fact that Indianizing the officer corps had become an integral part of the program of the “best and most moderate Indian politicians,” had led the GoI to propose Indianization as a concession to be in-

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cluded in the general reforms package submitted to the British Government. Though it was impossible to do anything further until the India Office received a detailed Indianization scheme from the Indian Government’s Army Department, Chamberlain made clear to Cabinet that the proposal would revolve around New Delhi’s recommendation that ten vacancies be allotted at Sandhurst to train Indian officer cadets for the King’s Commission. 124 Within ten days of writing this, Chamberlain resigned as India Secretary. The reason? The Report of a Parliamentary Commission of Inquiry into the disastrous first Mesopotamian campaign had been published. It excoriated most military and civil officials involved in the reversal, including Hardinge and Chamberlain—despite the fact that Chamberlain had always urged caution during the campaign itself. Under such circumstances, he felt that resigning from cabinet was the only honorable thing to do. 125 One cannot help but admire his gentlemanly sense of honor. It therefore fell to Chamberlain’s successor at the India Office, Sir Edwin Montagu, 126 to present the memo to Cabinet, with a covering letter in which the new India Secretary stated that, as he entirely concurred with his predecessor’s views on the matter of Indianization, he hoped that Cabinet would be able to examine the matter as soon as possible. Montagu was anxious that the matter be settled in time for the announcement, in Parliament, of the intention to allow Indians greater participation in their own government and administration, which was due to be made in late August 1917. As time was short, he asked Holderness how this could be effected. Holderness replied that, if time-saving was what the India Secretary wanted, the best way to proceed would be to ask the Cabinet if, in granting King’s Commissions to the nine recommended HMNILF officers, it “ . . . would also approve the principle of making provision for the admission, on a regular system, of Indians to commissions in the Indian Army, and authorise the War Office and the Secretary of State for India in council to frame suitable regulations for that purpose.” 127 Holderness told Montagu that it would be difficult to go beyond this, at present, for the simple reason that it was impossible to institute a regularized Indianization scheme until London received the Government of India’s promised dispatch on the matter. 128 Montagu’s concern to smooth the way for Cabinet approval is demonstrated by his exchange of notes with Cox on August 1. His query to the Military Secretary was prompted by a telegram he received from the Australian Government to the effect that objections would be raised if, as a result of the removal of the bar preventing Indians from becoming KCOs, Indian KCOs would be placed in command of, or issue orders to, Australian troops. 129 Cox replied that this objection was groundless, because he thought it extremely unlikely that the Government of India would place any of the nine HMNILF officers whom it had recommended for King’s Commissions in a position where they would command troops from Britain or any of the

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“white” Dominions. He reasoned that this was because New Delhi was “ . . . much too anxious for the success of . . . [the] . . . scheme to run any risks of difficulties of this kind.” Cox also laid out the precise procedure that would have to be adhered to if Cabinet approved the grant of King’s Commissions to the nine HMNILF officers. The War Office would first have to gazette them on the unattached list, and then post them to the Indian Army, either in the same or the following gazette. The Indian Government would then either have to post them to Indian Army regiments, or place them on an unattached list of their own. 130 Fortified by Cox’s advice, Montagu urged the Cabinet to reach a quick decision about King’s Commissions for Indians. He stressed the inherent justice of the measure, and the fact that it was untenable to close the higher military to Indians while allowing them into the higher echelons of the Civil Service. For these reasons, he asked the Cabinet to “ . . . sanction an announcement that the Cabinet has decided to accept, in principle, the appointment of Indians to commissioned rank in His Majesty’s Army.” In addition, Montagu requested that the announcement make clear that, although the Government of India, the India Office, and the War Office were still in the process of working out the details of the general conditions that would govern such commissions, this would in no way affect the immediate grant of King’s Commissions to nine officers of the HMNILF, which was to be made in recognition of their wartime services. 131 Indianization was the first order of business when the Imperial War Cabinet 132 met at 10 Downing Street at 11 o’clock on the morning of August 2, 1917. Representing the India Office were Montagu, Islington, and Cox. Montagu made the pitch, which was largely an amalgam of the major points of his own memorandum on Indianization of the previous day, and Chamberlain’s memo of July 10 on the subject. For a number of reasons, he thought it imperative that His Majesty’s Government should come to a quick and favorable decision on Indianization, and “ . . . make an early announcement . . . that they accepted, in principle, the appointment of Indians to commissioned rank in His Majesty’s Army.” 133 Indianization had been a recurring issue for many years, during which no progress had been made, primarily due to strenuous War Office opposition to potentially having Indians command Britons. Moreover, the present atmosphere of political and administrative reform was the right time for the approval of such a measure. In a pragmatic light too, Montagu contended that Indianization could not be further delayed. In the present war, allowing Indians into the officer ranks would help solve the shortage of British officers that the Indian Army was experiencing. It would also go a long way toward removing the ill effects the racial bar was having upon recruitment into the Indian Army. This was deemed crucial because military manpower needs had not abated in any way, and indeed, were projected to substantially increase in the coming year. Finally, it would

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satisfy the widespread Indian demand that they be made eligible for higher military employment. 134 Walter Long, 135 the Colonial Secretary, commented that, although he personally favored making the concession, he felt duty-bound to inform the Cabinet of the trouble that he anticipated would arise if Indians were placed in command of Australian or Canadian troops. Creating Indian KCOs made this a very real possibility, since the King’s Commission always had precedence over any Dominion Commission. To add weight to his argument, he mentioned that the admission of Indians into the Imperial War Cabinet had aroused the ire of the “white” Dominions. The India Secretary reassured Long that the eventuality of Indians in command of Dominion troops lay almost too far in the future to seriously contemplate. As a further measure, Montagu told the assembled Cabinet that he intended to caution Delhi that any such risk might seriously impair the prospects for success of this new departure. 136 If Long had raised doubts about the concession, then Lord Derby, 137 the War Secretary, and Sir Edward Carson, 138 the Irish Unionist leader and minister without portfolio in the War Cabinet, were totally against it. Derby was certain that the concession would alienate the vast majority of the officers and men of the British service. While he sympathised with Montagu’s point that the removal of the racial bar would help the recruitment drives of the Indian Army, he was convinced that the possibility of coming under the command of Indians would deter a great many British officers from entering the Indian service. And, since it was an accepted article of faith that Indians had not the same gift for military command as Britons, the resulting shortage of British officers in the Indian Army would surely lead to its becoming less efficient. 139 Carson, while he did not dispute the glorious and gallant deeds of the Indian Army in the present war, thought that to open higher employment in the army to them solely because of this smacked of sentimentality. A barrister by training, he employed a legal analogy. The policy of opening the Bar to Indians had not been a success. Indians, due to prejudices of caste and taste, stood aloof from their British confrères and, consequently, no Indian had ever practised successfully at the English Bar. Indeed, most had returned to India, bitter and disillusioned about their British experience, and were more than ready to become identified with Indian “sedition.” Carson here was clearly referring to people like Gandhi and Jinnah. Interestingly, the latter was to have a very lucrative legal practice in London in the late 1920s and the early 1930s. “I need not remind my colleagues,” Carson intoned, “what the consequences might be if Indian [higher] officers were to entertain similar sentiments.” 140 Islington dismissed Carson’s barrister analogy as being irrelevant to Indianization. Indian students who went to England for legal training were not selected by the Government of India, as Indian cadets at Sandhurst would be.

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The selection process alone would ensure their suitability and loyalty. In the greater interests of forming an Imperial military system, which he thought would be the logical thing to do once the war was over, Islington contended that “ . . . the right of Indians to King’s Commissions could not be denied.” Lord Curzon, General Smuts, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, and Lord Milner all agreed with Islington’s basic point. True to his pomposity, however, Curzon sought now to embroider his own “support” for Indianization— contending that, during his Viceroyalty, Curzon himself had proposed a proper Indianization scheme, only to be thwarted by Kitchener. 141 Faced with this kind of support for the “new departure,” Carson and Derby had little choice but to support it. The Imperial War Cabinet decided, To sanction an announcement that they accepted in principle the appointment of Indians to commissioned rank in His Majesty’s Army; that the general conditions in which such commissions will be granted in the future are being discussed by the Government of India, the India Office, and the War Office, but that for war service, nine commissions will at once be granted—seven captaincies and two lieutenancies—to soldiers recommended by the Government of India. 142

Back at the India Office that afternoon, Montagu penned a note to Chamberlain, informing him of the favorable Cabinet decision on Indianization. He ended it with these words: “I feel that the credit of this transaction is yours and I am deeply sensible [sic] of all that you did to bring the question to a point where a favourable decision could be obtained.” 143 As Montagu had made clear that King’s Commissions for Indians were to be an integral part of the Indian constitutional and administrative reforms package, it was only fitting that His Majesty’s Government announce it simultaneously with their announcement of the larger reforms package. Before this could be done however, certain routine procedural matters had to be taken care of. First, War Office permission to gazette the nine officers had to be formally secured in writing. Second, the India Office had to know the exact date of the London Gazette in which their names would appear, so that it could simultaneously make the notification under Section 3 of the 1916 Act, thereby legalizing the granting of King’s Commissions to the five HMNILF officers from Princely India. Finally, the Royal Warrant for Pay, which stipulated that a “ . . . commission as a second-lieutenant on the unattached list for appointment to . . . [the] . . . Indian Army may be given to a cadet who has passed through RMA Sandhurst, RMC Woolwich or to qualified university candidates,” had to be amended in the case of the nine officers who had attended neither Sandhurst nor Woolwich. 144 By August 15, the War Office had replied that the notification of the appointment of the nine HMNILF officers to King’s Commissions in the Indian Army would appear in the London Gazette on August 24, 1917. The

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nine were: Captain Zorawar Singh, MC, 1st Duke of York Lancers; Captain Kunwar Amar Singh, 2nd Lancers; Captain Aga Casim Shah, 3rd Skinner’s Horse; Captain Malik Mumtaz Mohammed Khan, 4th Cavalry; Captain Kunwar Pirthi Singh, 5th Cavalry; Captain Khan Mohammed Akbar Khan, CIE, 1/1st Brahmans; Captain Bala Saheb Daphlé, 1/2nd Queen Victoria’s Own Rajput Light Infantry; Lieutenant Rana Jodha Jang Bahadur, MC, 1/3rd Brahmans; Lieutenant Savai Sinhji, 1/4th Prince Albert Victor’s Rajputs. All these men had completed the ICC course. In addition, the following Indians were granted Temporary KCs: 2/Lt Kumar Shri Madhur Singh, 2/Lt Kumar Shri Mulraj Singh, and 2/Lt Hamatsinhji. 145 In keeping with usual practice, their commissions were to bear the following day’s date. 146 The way was now clear for Montagu to make the announcement in Parliament. On August 20, he rose in the Commons and made the following announcement: The Government have decided that the bar which has hitherto precluded the admission of Indians to commissioned rank in His Majesty’s Army should be removed, and, in accordance with this decision steps are being taken for the grant of commissions to nine Indian officers belonging to the Native Indian Land Forces who have served in the field in the present war and have been recommended for this honor by the Government of India in recognition of their services. Their names will be notified in the London Gazette and they will be posted to the Indian Army in the same Gazette. 147

Asked what impact this would have upon the whole Indian Army, and upon Colonial forces, Montagu responded that, at the present time, the principle of granting King’s Commissions to Indians had been conceded, and that a start had been made by the immediate grant to the nine HMNILF officers. About the future, he could only say that he was consulting with Delhi and the War Office, “ . . . with a view to the introduction of a carefully considered scheme, which will provide for the selection of candidates and for their training in the important duties that will devolve upon them.” 148 With this, the Indianization of the Indian Army’s Officer Corps, which had been hinted at as early as 1817, but only seriously contemplated and discussed from the 1880s onward, was finally conceded. But the concession was small, grudging, and forced by circumstance. NOTES 1. Note Circulated by the Secretary of State to the War Cabinet regarding Commissions for Indians, 1 Aug. 1917, in BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19013. In the parlance of the Raj, the term “Indian Civilian” referred to covenanted officers of the Indian Civil Service, who, in the period under discussion, were overwhelmingly British. 2. G.B. Parliament, Debates (Commons), 5th Series, 1917, vol. 96, col. 1219. Wedgewood, a Conservative MP, addressed this question to Mr. J.W. Pratt, the Lord Commissioner of the Treasury, on 25 July 1917.

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3. The First World War’s impact on India, socially, economically, militarily, and politically, is covered in D.C. Ellinwood and S.D. Pradhan (eds), India and World War I, (Columbia, Mo: South Asia Books, 1978); and V. Kant, “If I Die, Who Will Remember Me?”: India and the First World War, (New Delhi: Roli Books, 2014). For the Indian Army specifically, see: A. Jeffreys (ed.), The Indian Army in the First World War: New Perspectives, (Solihull: Helion, 2018). 4. On Anglo-Indian thinking behind this move, which contributed to their “illusion of permanence,” see: A. Rumbold, Watershed in India, (London: Athlone, 1979), pp. 10–11. 5. A.T. Jarboe, “Soldiers of Empire: Indian Sepoys in and Beyond the Imperial Metropole during the First World War, 1914–1919,” (unpub. PhD: Northeastern University, 2013), pp. 8–39. 6. F.J. Moberly, The History of the Great War Based on Official Documents: The Campaign in Mesopotamia, 1914–1918, vol. I, (London: His Majesty’s Stationery Office, 1923), pp. 57–58. 7. G.M. Jack, “The Indian Army on the Western Front, 1914–1915: a Portrait of Collaboration,” War in History, 13(3) 2006, p. 334; Government of India, India’s Contribution to the Great War, (Calcutta: Superintendent Government Printing, 1923), pp. 72–74. 8. B.C. Busch, Hardinge of Penhurst: A Study in the Old Diplomacy, (South Bend, Ind: Archon Books, 1980), pp. 225–6; Government of India, India’s Contribution to the Great War, (Calcutta: Superintendent Government Printing, 1923), pp. 72–74; D. Goold, “Lord Hardinge and the Mesopotamia Expedition and Enquiry, 1914–1917,” Historical Journal, Vol. 19(4), 1976, p. 924. 9. F.W. Perry, The Commonwealth Armies: Manpower and Organization in the Two World Wars, (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1988), p. 87. 10. K. Coates Ulrichsen, “India and the Mesopotamian Campaign,” in A. Jeffreys (ed.), The Indian Army in the First World War, p. 265. 11. See: G. Corrigan, Sepoys in the Trenches: The Indian Corps on the Western Front 1914–15, (Staplehurst, UK: Spellmount, 1999); G. M. Jack, The Indian Army on the Western Front: India’s Expeditionary Force to France and Belgium in the First World War, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014); D. Olusoga, The World’s War: Forgotten Soldiers of Empire, (London: Head of Zeus, 2014), ch. 2; a brief survey is: C.S. Sundaram, “‘Arriving in the Nick of Time’: The Indian Corps in France, 1914–15,” Journal of Defence Studies, 9(4), 2015. 12. Rumbold, Watershed, p. 28; I. Leask, “The Expansion of the Indian Army during the Great War,” (unpub. M.Phil thesis, University of London, UK, 1989), p. 24; India’s Contribution to the Great War, pp. 96–7. 13. Leask, “Expansion,” pp. 284–7; 26. 14. A.J. Barker, The First Iraq War, 1914–1918: Britain’s Mesopotamian Campaign, (New York: Enigma Books, 2009 (reprint of 1967 edn.), p. 414. I thank Professor Raymond Callahan for pointing me to this source. 15. Keith Jeffery, The British Army and the Crisis of Empire, 1918–1922, (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1984), p. 1, puts the total at about 1.4 million, but this figure includes the period 1914–1919. Similarly, others, like Kaushik Roy, have recently claimed that 1.7 million Indians were recruited in the First World War. However, these calculations are faulty, and based on adding the total number of Indians recruited by 1 December 1919—1.44 million—to the existing strength of the Indian Army in 1914—239,000. This latter number cannot be included in the total number of men recruited during the war; neither can the roughly 144,000 men recruited between 11 November 1918 and 1 December 1919. The combatstrength of the Army in India grew from 155,423 men in 1914 to 573,484 men in 1918, and 943,000 men were dispatched from India to serve the British Imperial war effort. See: Army in India and its Evolution, p. 219. 16. There is some disagreement in the secondary literature on the exact number of British officers of the Indian Army retained by the War Office at this time. Busch, p. 226, puts the total at 600, while Goold, p. 925, estimates more conservatively at about 500. A. Jeffreys, “The Expansion of the Indian Army Officer Corps during the First World War” in Jeffreys (ed.), The Indian Army in the First World War, p. 177, states 253. The figure of 530 comes from: Imperial

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War Conference: Memorandum on the Military Assistance given by India in the Prosecution of the War, 11 Mar. 1917, p. 4, AC 20/9/18, BUL; T.A. Heathcote, The Military in British India: The Development of British Land Forces in South Asia, 1600–1947, (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1996), p. 212. The Jeffreys’ article avoids discussing Indianization. 17. List of chiefs who have offered personal service, n.d.; List of officers in His Majesty’s Native Indian Land Forces, in GOI F&PD, Notes, Internal B, Sept. 1914, progs. 271–84; Note by A.R. Ross, Military Secretary’s Branch, 6 Oct. 1917, in GOI F&PD, Internal B, Oct. 1917, prog.189, NAI; Ellinwood, Between Two Worlds, p. 406. 18. S.R. Ashton, British Policy towards the Indian States, 1905–1939, (London: Curzon Press, 1982), p. 49; Busch, p. 227; Private letter: Hardinge to Crewe, 20 Aug. 1914, HP 120, CUL . 19. Sir Reginald Craddock to Lord Hardinge, 25 Mar. 1915, in HP: 89, CUL; Letter: Hardinge to Heads of Local Governments, 30 Aug. 1915 , in HP: 116, CUL. 20. Craddock, Sir Reginald H., (1864-1937), Prominent Indian Civilian; educated at Wellington and Keble College, Oxford; joined ICS, 1882; Home Member, GoI, 1912-1917; actively supported Rowlatt Act extending wartime emergency Defence of India rules in peacetime, which resulted in the notorious 1919 Jallianwalla Bagh massacre; Lieutenant-Governor, Burma, 1917-1921; Conservative Member of UK Parliament, 1931-1937. See: G. Smith and S. Lee, eds., The Concise Dictionary of National Biography, vol. II: 1901-1950, (London: Oxford University Press, 1953), p. 102; and D.A. Low, “‘Civil Martial Law’: The Government of India and the Civil Disobedience Movements, 1930-34,” in D.A. Low, ed., Congress and the Raj: Facets of the Indian Struggle, 1917-1947, 2nd edn., (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2004), p. 165. 21. Sir Reginald Craddock, Memorandum: India After The War, 4 Mar. 1915, HP: 89, CUL. 22. Ibid. 23. Ibid. 24. Charles Roberts to Lord Crewe, 25 May 1915, paras. 1–4, BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19006. 25. Blood, General Sir Bindon, (1842-1940). Educated at Addiscombe, and commissioned into the Royal Engineers, 1860; Commanded Malakand and Buner Field Force and lifted the siege of Malakand in 1897; commanded in Eastern Transvaal, 1901. Farwell describes him as a “tough, no-nonsense soldier.” We can surmise, then, that he was no “sentimentalist,” and that his opinion merited the official attention it received. See: B. Farwell, Queen Victoria’s Little Wars, p. 314. 26. R. Holmes, The Western Front, (New York: TV Books, 2000), p. 23. 27. Sir Bindon Blood’s Memorandum, 30 Dec. 1914, in BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19006. Shortly after writing his memorandum, Sir Bindon met Amar Singh, at a hunting party during the latter’s first trip to England, in early 1915. See: Ellinwood, Between Two Worlds, p. 478, n. 152. 28. Sir O’Moore Creagh, Commissions for Indians: a Memo, 8 Feb. 1915, para 4, in BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19006. 29. Ibid., para 6. 30. Ibid., paras. 3; 7–9. 31. Sir Theodore Morison, Imperial Rule in India: Being an Examination of the Principles Proper to the Government of Dependencies, (London: Constable & Co., 1899), pp. 142–5. On Sir Theodore Morison (1863–1936) see his obituary in The Times (London), 15 Feb. 1936. 32. Roberts to Crewe, 25 May 1915, para. 4, in BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19006. 33. Note by Holderness, 13 May 1915; Note by Barrow, 23 May 1915; Roberts to Crewe, 25 May 1915, paras. 3–4, in in BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19006. 34. Crewe to Charles Roberts, 26 May 1915, in BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19006. 35. On Austen Chamberlain, see: C. Petrie, The Life and Letters of the Right Hon. Sir Austen Chamberlain, 2 vols., (London: Cassell, 1939–1940); and David Dutton, Austen Chamberlain: Gentleman in Politics, (Bolton, UK: R. Anderson, 1985). On the formation of the first coalition see: G. Williams and J. Ramsden, Ruling Britannia, (Harlow: Pearson-Longman, 1990), ch. 20; M. Pugh, “Asquith, Bonar Law, and the First Coalition,” The Historical Journal, 17(4), 1974; and G. Cassar, Asquith as War Leader, (London: Hambledon, 1994).

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36. Stuart Samuel to Harold Tennant, 4 Jul. 1915, in BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19006. Stuart Montagu Samuel (1856–1926) British Liberal politician and bank executive, from a prominent Jewish family. 37. Lord Islington to Stuart Samuel, 15 Jul. 1915; Memorandum on the Grant of Commissions in the Army to Indians, by Austen Chamberlain, 30 Jul. 1915, paras. 1–2, in BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19006. 38. Memorandum on the Grant of Commissions in the Army to Indians, by Austen Chamberlain, 30 Jul. 1915, paras. 1–4, in BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19006. 39. Islington, Sir John Poynder-Dickson, (1866-1936). British politician with experience in Indian affairs; member of parliament, 1892-1910, London County Council 1898-1904, Governor-General of New Zealand 1910-1912, chaired Royal Commission on Indian public services 1912-1915, Under-Secretary Colonial Office 1914-1915 and India Office, 1915-1918. Created Baron Islington, 1910. 40. Note by Lord Islington, 29 Jul. 1915, in BL (APAC): L/MIL/7/19006. 41. Lord Islington, Note on the Grant of Commissions in the Army to Indians, 31 Jul. 1915 [hereafter: Islington, Note . . . 31 Jul. 1915]; Lord Islington, Reasons Why I Consider it preferable for Indian cadets to be trained in an Indian college instead of being sent to England for training at Sandhurst, 29 Jul. 1915, [hereafter: Islington, Reasons . . . 29 Jul. 1915], paras. 2; 4–5; in HP 77 CUL. 42. Dutton, Austen Chamberlain, p. 119. 43. Islington Note . . . 31 Jul. 1915, in HP 77 CUL; Note by Islington, 29 Jul. 1915, para. 3, in BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19006; Memorandum by His Excellency the Viceroy upon Questions Likely to Arise in India at the End of the War, August, 1915 [hereafter Hardinge’s Memo, August, 1915]; Hardinge to Provincial Governors, 30 Aug. 1915, para. 2,in HP 116 CUL. 44. Hardinge’s Memo, August, 1915, paras. 2; 4–5, in HP 116 CUL. 45. Busch, Hardinge of Penhurst, p. 202; Hardinge’s Memo, August 1915, para. 8, in ibid. 46. Hardinge’s Memo, August 1915, paras.7–9, in ibid. 47. Memorandum by Sir Stuart Bayley, 16 Sept. 1915, paras. 2–5; Memorandum by Sir Claude H.A. Hill, 4 Sept. 1915, in Replies from Governors, Lieutenant-Governors, ChiefCommissioners, Members of the Viceroy’s Executive Council and the CinC India to Lord Hardinge’s letter of 30 Aug. 1915, [hereafter Replies], in ibid. 48. Memorandum by Sir Reginald Craddock, 16 Sept. 1915, para. 4; Sir Benjamin Robertson to H.E. Viceroy, n.d. but circa. Sept. 1915, para. 12, in Replies, ibid. Men of the 9th Lancers, a British regiment, had been accused of abusing and killing an Indian cook. In response, Curzon imposed a collective punishment upon the unit, partially to discourage drunken assaults by British soldiers on Indian camp-followers, and partially because he was outraged that British officers “cravenly” attempted to shield the culprits. For details of the 9th Lancers incident, see Dilks, Curzon in India, vol. I, pp. 211–13; and Goradia, British Moghuls, pp. 167–70. 49. Adamson to Hardinge, 21 Sept. 1915, paras. 25–9, in Replies, HP 116 CUL. This is quite interesting, because the battalions of the Burma Military Police seem to have followed the establishment pattern of the early EIC Armies, and the irregular system employed in the Punjab of Henry and John Lawrence. The reported efficiency of the Burma battalions seems to give lie to the assertion, made time and time again by those opposed to Indianization, that Indian troops could not function efficiently without the oversight of British officers. 50. Memorandum by Sir Michael O’Dwyer, 13 Sept. 1915, para. 6–7, in Replies, HP 116 CUL. O’Dwyer, Sir Michael (1864–1940). Indian Civil Service. Revenue Commissioner, NWFP, 1901–08. Acting Resident, Hyderabad, 1908–09. Agent to the Governor-General in Central India, 1910–12. Lieutenant Governor, Punjab, 1913–19. Assassinated by Udham Singh in London in 1940, for his presumed part in the Amritsar Massacre of 1919. 51. Duff to Hardinge, 10 Sept. 1915, paras. 4–5; 7; 12–14, in Replies, HP 116 CUL. 52. Imam to Hardinge, 13 Sept. 1915, para. 6, in ibid. 53. Private Telegram: V to SSI, 14 Oct. 1915, BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19006. 54. Draft Telegram: SSI to V, n.d., in ibid.; Extract from Letter: SSI to V, 17 Nov. 1915, in AC 21/3/3, BUL. 55. Alternate Draft suggested by C. Egerton, para. 2, in BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19006.

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56. F.G. Wrigley to Holderness, 11 Nov. 1915, in ibid. 57. Holderness to Sir Stephen Sale, 11 Nov. 1915, and Sale to Holderness, 11 Nov. 1915, in ibid. 58. Extract of Letter: Chamberlain to Hardinge, 17 Nov. 1915, in AC 21/3/3 BUL. 59. Private Telegram from the Secretary of State to the Viceroy, 18 Nov. 1915, in AC 45/2/7 BUL. 60. The Phulkian states were those states founded by Sikhs belonging to the Phul Misl or clan. Most notable among them were Patiala, Nabha, Jind, and Faridkot, which all fell under the jurisdiction of the Punjab States Agency. 61. Private Telegram: V to SSI, 1 Dec. 1915, in AC 45/2/8; Private Letter: V to SSI, 24 Dec. 1915, para 2, in AC 21/3/3, BUL. 62. These officers were: Aga Casim Shah, Khan Mohammed Akbar Khan, Malik Mumtaz Mohammed Khan, and Aga Murtaza Khan. The first three were serving in France, the latter in Mesopotamia. Hardinge to Duff, 18 Dec. 1915, in AC 21/3/3 BUL. 63. There is a disconnect here between Duff’s assessment and Watson’s earlier opinion of this officer. 64. Duff to Hardinge, 21 Jun. 1915, in AC 21/3/3 BUL. The three were: Rana Jodha Jang, Kunwar Pirthi Singh, and Bala Saheb Daphlé. For Jang’s exploit, see: Indian Officers Rewarded, The Times (London), 9 Nov. 1915, p. 4, cited in Ellinwood, Between Two Worlds, pp. 401; 460. The newspaper did not distinguish between Indian Officers and HMNILF officers. 65. Banerjea, Surendranath, 1848-1925). Prominent Bengali moderate politician, journalist, and educationalist; entered the ICS, 1871; dismissed 1874; taught English; founded Ripon College; owner/editor of The Bengalee, a newspaper; active in early Indian nationalist politics; founded the Indian Association, 1876; helped found Indian National Congress1885; twice Congress President, 1895 and 1902; member, Bengal Legislative Council, 1893-1901; member, Central Legislative Council, 1913-1920, and Central Legislative Assembly, 1920-1924; supported Montagu-Chelmsford reforms; nicknamed “surrender-not,” doubtless in tribute to his doggedness. 66. Government of India, Abstracts of the Proceedings of the Legislative Council, Vol. 53 (1914–15), pp. 1–65. Surendranath Bannerjea on India and the War, The Mahratta, 30 Aug. 1914, p. 278; The Mahratta, 6 Sept. 1914, p. 282. 67. Resolutions 4 and 6, adopted by the Indian National Congress, 29th Session, Madras, 1914, in Zaidi and Zaidi, vol. 6, pp. 517–18. 68. S.R. Mehrotra, India and the Commonwealth, 1885–1929, (London: Allen & Unwin, 1965), p. 189; Rumbold, Watershed in India, p. 10; D. Omissi, “‘The Greatest Muslim Power in the World’: Islam, the Indian Army, and the Grand Strategy of British India, 1914–1916,” in Jeffreys (ed.), The Indian Army in the First World War, p. 155. 69. B. Chandra, et al., India’s Struggle for Independence, ch. 11; B.R. Nanda, Gokhale, the Indian Moderates, and the British Raj, (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1977), pp. 458–9; S.R. Mehrotra, Towards India’s Freedom and Partition, rev. edn., (New Delhi: Vikas, 2005), ch. 7. 70. H. Owen, “Negotiating the Lucknow Pact,” Journal of Asian Studies, Vol. 31(3), 1972, passim. 71. Mehrotra, India and the Commonwealth, 1885–1929, p. 190; Lucknow Pact 1916, http// :www.sdstate.edu_projectsouthasia_loader.pdf. (accessed 3 Feb., 2017). 72. Sir S.P. Sinha, “Commissions for Indians in the Army”; Mazhar-ul-Haque, “Commissions for Indians in the Army,” Indian Review, vol. 17(2), Feb. 1916, p. 113–14; 116. On Humanists and the military, see: Gunther E. Rothenberg, “Maurice of Nassau, Gustavus Adolphus, Raimondo Montecuccoli, and the ‘Military Revolution’ of the Seventeeth Century,” in P. Paret (ed.), Makers of Modern Strategy: From Machiavelli to the Nuclear Age, (Princeton: Princeton University Press,1986); and J.R. Hale, War and Society in Renaissance Europe, (London: Fontana, 1985), p. 73. 73. Chelmsford, Frederic John Napier Thesinger (1868-1933), 3rd Baron and 1st Viscount(created 1921). Education: Winchester; Oxford. Barrister, 1893; London School Board, 1900-1904; Governor, Queensland, 1905-1909; Governor New South Wales, 1909-1913; Viceroy of India, 1916-1921; First Lord of Admiralty, 1924; Warden, All Souls College, Oxford,

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1932. See: P.G. Robb, The Government of India and Reform: Policies toward Politics and the Constitution, 1916–1921, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1976). 74. P.G. Robb, The Government of India and Reform, is the most detailed discussion of the politics of the Reforms Despatch, but it studiously avoids detailed discussion of military aspects. See also Rumbold, Watershed, chs. 5–6. 75. Extract from Despatch from GOI, 24 Nov. 1916, para. 17, BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19013. 76. GOI Despatch (Home-Political) No. 17 of 1916, 24 Nov. 1916, paras. 16–17, AC: 22/1 BUL. 77. S.D. Pradhan, “The Indian Army and the First World War” in Ellinwood and Pradhan (eds), India and World War I, pp. 59–60; India’s Contribution to the Great War, p. 277. 78. Extract from Despatch from GOI, 24 Nov. 1916, para. 17, BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19013. 79. GOI Despatch (Home-Political) No. 17 of 1916, 24 Nov. 1916, paras. 16–17, AC 22/1 BUL. 80. Note by General E. Barrow on GOI Despatch of 24 Nov. 1916, BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/ 19006. 81. Ibid. 82. Note: Holderness to Chamberlain, 29 Jan. 1917, BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19006. 83. Letter: SSI to V, 17 Nov. 1915; Note by Chamberlain, 30 Jan. 1917, BL(APAC): L/ MIL/7/19006. 84. Report on GOI Despatch (Home-Political) No. 17 of 1916 by Special Committee, India Office, 16 Mar. 1917; Note: Holderness to Chamberlain, 29 Jan. 1917; Resolution 5: King’s Commissions, 30 Jan. 1917, in Resolutions of the Special Committee appointed to consider GOI Despatch No. 17 (Home-Political), 24 Nov. 1916, BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19006. 85. Telegram: SSI to V(AD), 5 Feb. 1917, [3440]; Secret Telegram: V(AD) to SSI, 11 Feb. 1917, BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19006. 86. Note by Special Committee on Viceroy’s 2062, 12–16 Feb. 1917, BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/ 19006. 87. Secret Telegram: SSI to V(AD), 19 Feb. 1917, paras. 1–5, BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19006. 88. Telegram: V(AD) to SSI [3452], 8 Mar. 1917, para. 4, BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19006. 89. Ibid., para 3; Note on discussions [by the CinC, the Adjutant-General, India, the Army Department Secretary GOI, and the Chief of General Staff India] on the question of Commissions for Indians on 12 Feb. 1917, paras. 2–3, in GOI F&PD, Secret I, Notes, Jan. 1918, prog. 14, NAI. 90. Heathcote, The British Military in India, pp. 231–2. 91. Telegram: V(AD) to SSI[3452], 8 Mar. 1917, para. 3, BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/ 19006; Note by Sir C.C. Monro, 5 Mar. 1917, BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19015; and Memorandum by General Sir C.C. Monro, 22 Feb. 1917, in GOI F&PD, Notes, Secret I, Jan. 1918, prog. 14, NAI. 92. Telegram: V(AD) to SSI [3452], 8 Mar. 1917, para. 4, BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19006. 93. Minute by General E.G. Barrow, 20 Mar. 1917, paras. 3–4; Note by Barrow, 22 Mar. 1917, BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19006. 94. Cox, Herbert Vaughan (1860-1929): educated at Charterhouse and Sandhurst; commissioned 2nd Lieutenant, 1/25th Regiment of Foot (King’s Own Scottish Borderers), 1880; transferred to 21st Infantry Regiment of the Madras Army, 1883, and served in the 2nd AngloAfghan War post to 21st Madras Infantry; served as adjutant, South India Railway Volunteer Corps, Deputy Assistant Adjutant-General (DAAG) for Musketry in Burma, DAAG Imperial Service Troops, 1886-97; attained Captaincy, 1891; saw action in Mohmand and Tirah expeditions, 1897-8; Major, 1900; Saw action in Boxer Rebellion, 1901-2; in command of 69th Punjabi Regiment as Lt-Col, 1904; AQMG (mobilization) and DQMG (India), 1907-10; Military Member, Coronation Durbar Committee, 1911; Brigadier-General, 1911; GOC 4th Infantry Brigade and then GOC 2nd Infantry Brigade, 1912-14; commanded ANZAC and Indian force in Gallipoli, Aug. 1915 GOC 4th Australian Division as Lieutenant-General, Oct. 1915; Military Secretary at India Office, 1917-20, and participated in Esher Committee; retired 1921; died 1923; See: http://www.anzac-biographies.com/2017/05/02/cox-general-sir-herbertvaughan-gcb-kcmg-csi/ (accessed 2 Jan. 2019)

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95. Minute by Lieutenant-General Sir H.V. Cox, Military Secretary, India Office, 19 Mar. 1917, paras. 2–6, BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19006. 96. Copy: Draft Reply to V’s 3452, 28 Mar. 1917, BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19013; Telegram: SSI to V(AD) [646], 28 Mar. 1917, BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/ 19006. 97. Telegram: SSI to V(AD) [647], 28 Mar. 1917, BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/ 19006. 98. Telegram: V to SSI[5389], 17 Apr. 1917, para. 2, BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/ 19006. 99. Ibid., para. 3. 100. Ibid., para. 2. 101. Telegram: V(AD) to SSI[5390], 17 Apr. 1917, para 1, BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/ 19006. 102. Ibid., para. 6. 103. Ibid., para 8. 104. Here, Chamberlain was wrong. Together, Quetta and Wellington graduated only 1,312 British regular officers during the War. See: Jeffreys, “Expansion,” p. 181. 105. Telegram: SSI to V(AD)[914], 5 May 1917, BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/ 19006. 106. Telegram: V(AD) to IO[7688], 26 May 1917, BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19013. 107. Telegram: V(AD) to SSI, 26 May 1917 [7688], BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19006. In peacetime, Captains and Lieutenants were required to serve for nine years before gaining eligibility for advancement to the next higher rank. In the First World War, however, this was reduced to six years for Captains, and four years for Lieutenants, undoubtedly due to the massive attrition of junior officers that occurred. On the war situation in 1917, see: D. Stevenson, 1914–1918: The History of the First World War, (London: Penguin Books, 2005), ch.14. 108. Note: Hirtzel to Chamberlain, 30 May 1917; Minute by Cox, 29 May 1917, BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19013. 109. Minute by Cox, 29 May 1917, BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19013. 110. Draft Letter: Holderness to Secretary, War Office, 1 Jun. 1917, para. 2; Chamberlain’s marginal notes in Note: Hirtzel to Chamberlain, 30 May1917, BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19013. 111. For details of Indian labor, see: R. Singha, Front Lines and Status Lines: The Follower Ranks of the Indian Army in the Great War, Cambridge University Centre of South Asian Studies Occasional Paper 27, 2008. 112. In their request, the Government of India made it quite clear that the granting of such commissions would be strictly limited, and would only be conferred after an adequate quota of men had been actually provided. See: Telegram: V(AD) to SSI, 7 Apr. 1917, in, BL(APAC): L/ MIL/7/19009. 113. Ibid.; Draft Letter: Holderness to Secretary, War Office, 1 Jun. 1917, para. 3, BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19013. 114. Draft Letter: Holderness to Secretary, War Office, 1 Jun. 1917, paras. 3–5, BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19013. 115. Copy Telegram: SSI to V(AD)[1112] 30 May 1917, BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19006. 116. Telegram: V(AD) to SSI[8082], 1 Jun. 1917, BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19006. The five from the princely states were: Bala Saheb Daphlé (Jath), Pirthi Singh (Kotah), Amar Singh (Jaipur), Zorawar Singh (Bhavnagar), and Savai Sinhji (Nawanagar). 117. Copy Telegram: SSI to V(AD)[1154], 4 Jun. 1917, BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19006. 118. See: Indian Army List: April, 1917, pp. 65a–65b for the names and Honorary ranks of these officers. 119. Secret Telegram: V(AD) to SSI[8863], 16 Jun. 1917, BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19006. 120. Ibid. 121. Note by Sir H.V. Cox, 18 Jun. 1917, BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19013. 122. WO to USSI, MILDEPT, IO, 5 Jul. 1917, BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19013. 123. Comment by Holderness on WO to USSI, MILDEPT, IO, 6 Jul. 1917 , BL(APAC): L/ MIL/7/19013. 124. Austen Chamberlain, Memorandum on the grant of King’s Commissions to Indians and Correspondence with the Army Council on the subject, 10 Jul. 1917, BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/ 19006. 125. Chamberlain to Chelmsford, 18 Jul. 1917, Chelmsford Papers, BL(APAC): MSS. Eur. E. 264/15. For Chamberlain’s involvement on the Mesopotamian campaign, see: Dutton, Austen Chamberlain, pp. 120–3; and Goold, passim. On the Mesopotamian campaign, see: A.J.

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Barker, The First Iraq War, 1914–1918; R. Ford, Eden to Armageddon: World War I in the Middle East, (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 2009); C. Townshend, When God Made Hell: The British Invasion of Mesopotamia and the Creation of Iraq, 1914–1921, (London: Faber & Faber, 2010); P.K. Davis, Ends and Means: The British Mesopotamia Campaign and Commission, (East Rutherford NJ: Fairleigh Dickinson University Press, 2004); and J.S. Galbraith, “No Man’s Child: The Campaign in Mesopotamia, 1914–1916” International History Review, vol. 6(3), 1984. Though old, a thought-provoking analysis of the campaign is: N.F. Dixon, On the Psychology of Military Incompetence, (London: Jonathan Cape, 1976), pp. 95–109. 126. Covering Letter: Montagu to Cabinet, 20 Jul. 1917, BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19006; Edwin Samuel Montagu (1879–1924). Educ: Trinity College, Cambridge. Liberal MP, 1906–22. Secretary to Asquith, 1906–10. Parliamentary Under–Secretary, India, 1910–14. Secretary of State for India, 1917–22. Co-authored Report on Indian Constitutional Reforms, 1918. 127. Holderness to Montagu, 23 Jul. 1917, BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19013. 128. Rumbold, Watershed, pp. 87–8; 129. Note: Montagu to Cox, 1 Aug. 1917, BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19013 130. Minute: Cox to Montagu, 1 Aug. 1917, BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19013. 131. Note Circulated by the Secretary of State for India to the War Cabinet regarding Commissions for Indians, 1 Aug. 1917, para. 4, L/MIL/7/19013. Of the nine HMNILF officers, four saw service in France, three in Mesopotamia, and one in Egypt. The remaining officer—Khan Mohammed Akbar Khan, saw service in all three theaters. Two of the nine were awarded the Military Cross—Zorawar Singh, who served in Egypt with the Mysore State Lancers, and Rana Jodha Jang Bahadur, who served with the 39th Garhwal Rifles in France. 132. The Imperial War Cabinet was largely a public relations device devised by Lloyd George. India was represented by the India Secretary, assisted by three assessors, two of whom were Indian—Sir Satyendra Sinha, and the Maharaja of Bikaner. See: P. Rowland, Lloyd George, (London: Macmillan, 1975), p. 400; and M.E. Chamberlain, Britain and India, (Newton Abbot: David and Charles 1974), pp. 186–7. 133. Minutes of the 203rd Meeting of the War Cabinet, held at 10 Downing Street, at 11 a.m. on Thursday, 2 Aug. 1917 [hereafter 203rd WarCab meeting, 2 Aug. 1917], para. 1, TNA: CAB 23/3. 134. Ibid., paras. 2–3. 135. Long, Walter (1854-1924), Unionist politician. Educated at Harrow and Christchurch, Oxford, he was elected Conservative MP for Wiltshire,1880. In Ireland, he helped found the Ulster Defence force,1907; Colonial Secretary, 1916-1919. See: C. Petrie, Walter Long and His Times, (London: Hutchinson, 1936). 136. 203rd WarCab meeting, 2 Aug. 1917, paras. 2-3, TNA: CAB 23/3. 137. Derby, Edward Stanley, 17th Earl of, (1865-1948). Commissioned 2nd Lt., 1882; served as staff officer during Boer War, 1899-1902; in 1914 was very active in the recruitment of Kitchener’s new armies, and the formation of the “Pals” battalions, which suffered so tragically at the Somme in 1916; served as Lloyd George’s War Secretary in 1916-1918 and in 19221924, under Bonar Law. 138. Carson, Sir Edward, (1854-1935) controversial Anglo-Irish lawyer and politician; gained prominence in Oscar Wilde libel case, 1895; led Irish Unionist parliamentary party, 1910-1921; helped found Ulster Volunteer Force; spearheaded Unionist opposition to Irish Home Rule; held top cabinet posts under Asquith and Lloyd George, such as Attorney-General, 1915-1916, First Lord of the Admiralty, 1916; and Minister without Portfolio, 1917. See: G. Lewis, Carson, the Man who Divided Ireland, (London: Hambledon, 2005), 139. 203rd WarCab meeting, 2 Aug. 1917, paras. 4-5, TNA: CAB 23/3. 140. Ibid., para. 6. During the Second World War, a certain number of Indians holding higher commissions did become “seditionist,” and formed the nucleus of the Indian National Army. See: C.S. Sundaram, “Seditious Letters and Steel Helmets: Disaffection among Indian Troops in Singapore and Hong Kong, 1940–1, and the Formation of the Indian National Army,” in K. Roy (ed.), War and Society in Colonial India, 1807–1945, (Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2006); and “A Paper Tiger: The Indian National Army in Battle, 1944–1945,” War and Society, 13(1), May 1995. 141. 203rd WarCab Meeting, para. 7, TNA: CAB 23/3.

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142. Committee of Imperial Defence, Sub-Committee on Indian Military Requirements, IMR 49: Grant of Commissions to Indians, TNA: CAB 16/38(II). 143. Private Letter: Montagu to Chamberlain, 2 Aug. 1917, AC 15/5/1, BUL. 144. War Office, King’s Regulations: Article 29: Royal Warrant for Pay; Note: Holderness to Cox, 3 Aug. 1917; Cox to Holderness, 7 Aug. 1917, BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19013. 145. See: Indians Appointed to Commissions in the Army, BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19023. 146. Minute by IO (MilDept), 15 Aug. 1917, BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19013; The Indian Government was notified of this the very next day. See: Telegram: SSI to V(AD),16 Aug. 1917, BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19009. 147. G.B. Parliament, Debates (Commons), 1917, 5th Series, Vol. XCVII, col.1695. 148. Ibid., col. 1698.

Chapter Six

Little Grace in the Giving: Indianization Policy, 1917–1945

This chapter is a brief survey of post-1917 Indianization policy. It is designed to show how many of the features of the forgotten debate set the template for Indianization policy until the end of the Second World War. Montagu’s overturning of the bar preventing Indians from becoming KCOs did not immediately lead to the implementation of any bold and farreaching Indianization scheme. A school to train Indian KCOs was started at Daly College, Indore, in October 1918. Forty-three Indian cadets attended, though it was intended for between 50–100. It was designed to cater to Indian cadets from both civilian and military backgrounds. Just under half of them were recommended by the Punjab provincial government, and were mostly representatives of “martial” India. The Indore school’s syllabus was fully military, and rigorous, as opposed to that of the earlier ICC. Stress was laid on “ . . . discipline . . . the scrupulous exactitude in the performance of all military duties, however trivial . . . Slovenly behaviour and slackness are sure indications that the bonds of discipline are lax. A high standard of drill is therefore essential . . . [Finally, the] . . . daily care of arms is very important and work always commences with a careful rifle inspection.” Yet civilian and military cadets at the Indore school did not undergo identical training. For instance, because it was presumed that civilian cadets would have had little horse-riding experience prior to joining, they were “ . . . encouraged to increase their [riding] proficiency on holidays and when off-duty . . . “ And military cadets, whom it was presumed would not have had much education in English, were required to take formal English classes as part of their course. The Indore school was a success. Thirty-nine cadets passed the course, of which 32 received full King’s Commissions in July 1920. One of them was K.M. 211

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Cariappa, who subsequently rose to become the first CinC of independent India’s Army in 1949. 1 However, the Indore school was closed in 1919, after graduating the first batch of cadets. As a British officer later admitted, the Indore school “ . . . was only an expedient, to meet the special needs of the war.” 2 The nine HMNILF officers granted King’s Commissions in August 1917 enjoyed varying fortunes. Seeing service in the 3rd Afghan war, Amar Singh resigned his commission in 1921 after receiving an unfavorable confidential report from his commanding officer. Aga Casim Shah and Pirthi Singh retired in 1925, Zorawar Singh and Daphlé in 1929. Rana Jodha Jang left the Army in 1934. Khan Mohammed Akbar Khan and Malik Mumtaz Mohammed Khan were not listed in the Indian Army List after 1921. 3 After the closure of the Indore School, the only avenue to a King’s Commission open to an Indian was through Sandhurst. In 1919, ten cadetships were allotted yearly at Sandhurst to Indians. Between that time and 1931, a total of 157 Indian cadets attended Sandhurst. However, the failure rate was high—only 52 Indians successfully passed the Army entrance examination. 4 This was somewhat ameliorated by the setting up, in March, 1922, of the Prince of Wales Royal Indian Military College (POWRIMC), at Dehra Dun. The college was organized and administered on military lines, and its aim was to “ . . . imbue . . . cadets . . . with . . . those qualities which are essential if they are later to fill successfully their positions as officers and leaders of men.” These qualities included: “ . . . a sense of loyalty, patriotism, manliness and a self-effacing spirit of service, together with a healthiness of mind and body such as will render them true and useful servants and citizens of India and the Empire.” These qualities were the ones precisely required of gentlemen. 5 One of the component aims was to give Indian cadets “social training” that would enable them to move confidently in Anglo-Indian society. A holdover from the forgotten debate, this was deemed especially important from the point of view of the acceptance of Indian KCOs by their British officer confreres in the regimental mess. The extent of Anglo-India’s concern about this was highlighted during a 1927 debate on Indianization in the Indian Central Legislative Assembly. Responding to a nationalist Indian resolution advocating a higher rate of Indianization, Colonel J.D. Crawford, a European Member of the Legislative Assembly (MLA) maintained that social difficulties of Indians in a regimental mess setting precluded this. In response, the MLA Mohammed Ali Jinnah attacked this notion, on the grounds that social difficulties had nothing to do with the duties of the army officer. To this Crawford responded: “Live in a mess and see.” Not missing a beat, Jinnah, who was known to enjoy a chhota peg or two of whiskey himself, shot back: “You mean, live in a mess and drink!” This is corroborated by P.K. Sahgal. who, commissioned on February 1, 1939, was glad that he was attached to a

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British Army unit in India, where, among other things, he learned “how to drink.” 6 Indian MLAs—most of whom were moderate nationalists who opposed the extra-parliamentary non-cooperation methods of Gandhi to such an extent that they broke away from the Gandhian Congress to form their own party, the National Liberal Federation—displayed a keen interest in Indian military affairs, including Indianization. 7 In March, 1921, one of them, Sir P.S. Sivaswamy Aiyar, 8 tabled a set of fifteen resolutions on Indian defense matters in the CLA as a response to the findings of the 1919 Army in India (Esher) Committee. The remit of this committee was to “enquire into and report, with special reference to post-bellum conditions, upon the administration, and where necessary, the organization of the Army in India, including its relations with the War Office and the India Office, and the relations of the two Offices to one another.” 9 The Esher Committee ignored Indianization, but Sivaswamy Aiyar did not, tabling the following resolutions on it: 7. (a) That the King-Emperor’s Indian subjects should be freely admitted to all arms of His Majesty’s military, naval, and air forces, that every encouragement should be given to Indians, including the educated middle-classes - subject to the prescribed standards of fitness - to enter the commissioned ranks of the Army . . . (b) That not less than 25 per cent of the King’s Commission’s granted every year should be given to His Majesty’s Indian subjects to start with. 8. (a) That adequate facilities should be provided here in India for the preliminary training of Indians to fit them to enter the Royal Military College, Sandhurst. (b) That the desirability of establishing in India, a military college such as Sandhurst should be kept in view. 10

In the subsequent debate, an Anglo-Indian MLA, W.C. Renouf, introduced an amendment to resolution 7(a), which read: “The general rule in selecting [Indian] candidates for this training at Sandhurst should be that the large majority of selections should be from the communities which furnish recruits to the Army, and, as far as possible, in proportion to the numbers in which they furnish recruits.” 11 Supported by two Sikh MLAs, Bhai Man Singh and Sardar Gulab Singh, the Renouf amendment passed by one vote, and slyly skewed the resolution’s purpose to overwhelmingly favor the martial races. In any case, resolution 8(a) was the only one with which the Indian Government and its Army Department wholeheartedly agreed, as is evidenced by the creation of the POWRIMC. A novel tactic by Babu Indian MLAs to embarrass the GoI into providing some forward movement regarding Indianization was employed when the Army budget was up for approval. For instance, in March 1929, C.S. Ranga Iyer moved that the Army budget be reduced to a single Rupee, unless, of

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course, a more generous and liberal rate of Indianization, and one that included candidates from the Indian intelligentsia, was adopted. Though New Delhi remained unmoved, and the motion failed, Ranga Iyer had made his point. 12 As in the pre-1917 period, some very influential British officers intensely disliked Indianization. One of these was Henry Rawlinson, 13 the CinC India from 1920 to 1925, who was of the opinion that India would always be defenseless without British officers. The vehemence of his opposition to Indianization, as well as his overweening confidence in British abilities, is revealed in the following quote: I have come to realise what a despicable creature the Indian really is . . . We are not running serious risks. Except for the inhabitants of the Punjab, the Indian races are nothing but a lot of sheep and a few thousand British soldiers could conquer Central, Southern, and Eastern India today just as they did 150 years ago under Clive. 14

Here, Rawlinson did not know his history. First, as Omissi rightly points out, Clive’s forces always contained more Indians than Britons. Second, by no means did Clive conquer central and southern India. These conquests were achieved by his successors. 15 Nevertheless, the need to conciliate moderate Indian opinion in the wake of the Congress non-cooperation campaigns continued to force the pace. In January 1922, a committee headed by General Sir John Shea, the then Chief of General Staff of the Indian Army, proposed a radical scheme calling for complete Indianization of the entire Army, in three stages, each of 14 years—42 years in total—with the proviso that, if the first phase proved successful, the second and third phases could be shortened. 16 London was incredulous. [A]t . . . a time when the authority of the Government [of India] is widely challenged and sedition is openly preached . . . [the India Office was] unable to understand how the Government of India and their military advisors have been able to satisfy themselves that so revolutionary a change can prudently be introduced. 17

It was finally announced in 1923 that eight units of the Indian Army would be Indianized, on a trial basis, after which Indianization would be extended to other units. Niggardly as it was, the “Eight-Unit Scheme” was actually a doubling of what the CID’s Indian Defence Sub-Committee had initially proposed after rejecting the Shea scheme. New Delhi balked at this, maintaining that to Indianize only four units would surely incense Indian moderates, perhaps even to the point of driving them into the arms of the Gandhian Congress, which was the last thing Anglo-Indian policymakers desired. The

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eight units were: 7th Light Cavalry, 16th Light Cavalry, 2/1st Madras Pioneers, 4/19th Hyderabad Regiment, 5th Royal Battalion/5th Mahratta Light Infantry, 1/7th Rajput Regiment, 18 1/14th Punjab Regiment, and 2/1st Punjab Regiment. 19 In no way was moderate Indian opinion mollified by the eight-unit scheme. Indian MLAs denounced it on the grounds that, firstly, the number of units to be Indianized constituted a mere 6 percent of the Indian Army’s unit strength; secondly, that the twenty-four year period it would take for each of the eight units to completely Indianize—that is, have an Indian lieutenant-colonel—was far too long a period to wait for the possible extension of Indianization; and thirdly, that it amounted to the segregation of Indian KCOs from their British counterparts. However, it is clear that the eight-unit scheme was so structured to mollify Anglo-Indian prejudices. Funnelling Indian KCOs into only eight units would reassure the parents of prospective British officers of the Indian Army that their sons would not have to compete directly with, or be in the same mess as, Indian cadets. All serving Indian KCOs were now requested to transfer into the eight units. Three refused, including A. A. Rudra, a Bengali officer who stayed with his unit because the unit’s senior Indian Officer protested his transfer, helping demolish the Anglo-Indian myth that no Indian Officer would serve under an Indian KCO. 20 By 1925, Indianization had not progressed very far, as table 6.1 demonstrates. Thus, by 1925, only 25 Indians had been commissioned as KCOs in the Indian Army. In the same period, however, 672 British officers had been appointed to line units of the Indian Army. 21

Table 6.1. The State of Indianization, 1925 Indians admitted to Sandhurst since 1919 61 Unsuitable

12

Dead

2

Resigned their Commission

2

Commission Canceled

1

Undergoing Training at Sandhurst

19

Commissioned and serving with Line Units

15

Undergoing Years’ Attachment in British Units

10

Source: Government of India, Central Legislative Assembly, Debates, 1925, vol. 5(II), p. 1276.

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Constant pressure from the Indian MLAs, as well as some British concern at the 30% failure rate of Indians at Sandhurst, which compared highly unfavorably with the 3% failure rate of British boys at Sandhurst, led to the Government of India’s appointment of the Indian Sandhurst (Skeen) Committee, in 1925. This committee was chaired by Lieutenant-General Sir Andrew Skeen, at that time, the Chief of General Staff, India. Besides Skeen, who was its only British member, the committee included Jinnah, Sivaswamy Aiyar, and Majors Zorawar Singh and Bala Saheb Daphlé. The Committee was tasked with: discovering ways to improve the quality and the quantity of Indian applicants for KCO commissions; examining the desirability and feasibility of establishing a military college in India to provide officer training to Indians, and also, if such a measure were to be approved, what the optimum method of implementation would be; and determining whether such an institution would complement or supersede the training of Indians at Sandhurst. 22 The Skeen Committee issued its report in late 1926. Its recommendations were in line with the Indian nationalist aim of facilitating the entry of Indians into the KCO ranks, and can be grouped under three broad headings: measures to increase the availability of officer training to Indians; measures designed to increase the scope of Indianization, and measures designed to improve antecedent education. Under the first heading, the Committee recommended that the Sandhurst places allotted Indians be increased from 10 to 20 beginning two years hence, and thereafter, that this number increase by four places yearly until 1933, when a total of 38 places would be reserved for Indian cadets at Sandhurst. It also recommended that an Indian Sandhurst, with 100 places, be set up in 1933, to train Indians for King’s Commissions. Although, after this date, Indians would still have the option of attending Sandhurst, the places allotted to them there would be reduced to twenty. At the Indian Sandhurst, the number of cadets admitted would increase by twelve every three years. The Committee envisioned that, if all the Indian cadets, both at Sandhurst and at the Indian Sandhurst, were successful, half the officers recruited annually for the Indian Army by 1945 would be Indian. Indeed, by 1952, the Committee hoped that fully half of the Indian Army’s officer corps would be Indian. 23 Under the second heading, the Committee proposed that, in order to absorb the increased output of KCIOs, the eight-unit scheme be abolished, and Indianization be introduced across the board in the Indian Army. In its opinion, the eight-unit scheme was an “invidious form of segregation” that conflicted with the principle of cooperation that operated in other sectors of the Indian administration. Moreover, it cited the 1923 scheme as the main reason for the dearth of Indian applicants and candidates for the King’s Commission. 24 The Committee also proposed that Indianization be extended to the technical arms of the Indian Army, such as the Artillery, Signal, Tank and

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Engineering Corps, so that Indian KCOs could demonstrate their competence in a fuller range of military roles. To facilitate this, it recommended the allotment of eight places yearly at Woolwich to Indians. Under antecedent education heading, the Indian Sandhurst Committee stressed the importance of public school education for prospective officer-candidates. As the only extant institution in India which offered this type of education was the new and successful POWRIMC, the Indian Sandhurst Committee urged the Indian Government to greatly expand this college to accommodate between 250-350 students. 25 The Skeen Committee also dealt with two other important questions. One concerned the sheer cost of the Sandhurst course for the parents of Indian officer cadets. The Skeen Committee stated that the fees charged at both the POWRIMC and at Sandhurst—which amounted to Rs. 12,000 for soldiers’ sons and Rs. 21,000 for civilians’ sons—were prohibitively expensive for all but the wealthiest Indian families. The Committee agreed that: “There can be no doubt that the factor of expense has also deterred candidates from coming forward who would otherwise be suitable . . . [and that] Indian candidates for the Army receive less pecuniary assistance than is given in many other countries.” 26 The other dealt with the supervision of Indian cadets at Sandhurst. A retired British officer with experience of the Indian Army had been appointed to look after the needs of the Indian cadets, to act as their official guardian, in loco parentis. However, when the Skeen Committee interviewed some Indian cadets in 1926, it found that they did not much like the official guardian, because of his aloof and brusque manner, and also because of the restrictions he placed on them. 27 For instance, the guardian was not too keen on letting the Indian cadets go to Camberley or London, or to dance—presumably, because these activities would involve fraternizing with white women. This was quite in keeping with high-level thinking when Indianization began. No less a person than the then Viceroy, Chelmsford, recommended strict supervision for Indian cadets at Sandhurst. For instance, there was to be “ . . . [n]o going up to [London] town on Saturday nights and staying there until Sunday,” 28 which was a common practice among British cadets. That a similar argument had been employed to quash the ICC’s stationing in Calcutta nearly twenty years before shows the strength of this conservative sentiment. However, the Skeen Committee took the testimony of the Indian cadets to heart, and recommended a set of guidelines compelling the official guardian to liberalize his attitude toward his charges. 29 That the Indian Government was taken aback by the Skeen recommendations is evidenced by the fact that, in the foreword it attached to the Committee’s report, it cautioned that the report’s publication did not imply its acceptance either by New Delhi or London. 30 Indeed, the Conservative Viceroy, Lord Irwin, thought the Skeen proposals were highly premature and therefore, unwarrantedly risky, from the point of view of maintaining military

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efficiency. Irwin was skeptical of Skeen’s assertion that a policy of liberal Indianization would attract more qualified Indians to officer careers, and he certainly opposed the idea of an Indian Sandhurst. He was wedded to the notion, common among makers of British political and military policy at this time, of “Indianization as experiment.” Therefore, he was only prepared to recommend the creation of a “Dominion Army,” of which the eight units undergoing Indianization would form the nucleus. Thus, the only recommendation of Skeen’s that Irwin was prepared to endorse was the one urging that Indians be allowed to attend the Royal Air Force Academy at Cranwell, and Woolwich. 31 In late 1927, a sub-Committee of the Committee of Imperial Defence (CID), headed by Lord Balfour rejected the Skeen proposals. However, as a sop to Indian opinion, the Balfour Committee sanctioned the allotment of six places yearly to Indians at Woolwich, and proposed that the number of Sandhurst places allotted Indians be increased to 25. 32 In announcing these measures in the Legislative Assembly, in March 1928, General Sir William Birdwood, 33 the CinC India, stated that an additional five places at Sandhurst would be made available to promising junior Indian Officers. In addition, he stated that the eight units then being Indianized would be converted from an Indian establishment to a British one, meaning that, henceforward, there would be no Indian Officers in the eight units. This meant that Indianizing units would have a an officer establishment of 23 to 28 Indian KCOs, while the rest of the units would continue the two-tiered system, with 19-20 VCOs and 12-14 British KCOs. 34 This measure was justified on the grounds that, in Indianized units, there was no need for Indian Officers to act as intermediaries between the troops and officers, as both were Indian. It is clear, however, that this measure was intended to hobble any progress toward Indianization. In the first place, by increasing the number of KCOs an Indianizing unit needed by between nine to fourteen, it considerably prolonged the time period of Indianization. Secondly, by ensuring that Indian KCOs’ first posting would be a platoon command rather than a company command, as was the practice obtaining with British KCOs in non-Indianizing units, it decreased the chances that an Indian KCO would rise anytime soon to battalion command. It also preserved the superiority of the British officer vis-à-vis his Indian counterpart, which was deemed essential if the Indian Army’s officer corps were to continue to provide employment for young Britons. In these ways, as Motilal Nehru pointed out, the practical effects of the extension of training to the technical arms was rendered nugatory. 35 By the end of the 1920s, it was clear that a greater and more liberal rate of Indianization could not be delayed much further. In 1929, for the first time, more than ten Indians qualified for Sandhurst entry, and, in 1930, sixty-eight Indian KCOs were serving in the Indian Army. 36 On the political front, too, nationalist pressure was increasing. In 1928, reacting to the fact that the

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Indian Statutory Commission headed by Sir John Simon and appointed by the Baldwin Government to examine the progress of the 1919 reforms did not contain a single Indian member, Congress deputed a committee, headed by Motilal Nehru, to devise an Indian constitution. As expected, the Nehru Report rejected Simon’s proposal for a Dominion Army, officered entirely by Indians. A restatement of the Cobbe proposal, this Indian-officered force was to be increased proportionately to the decrease of the regular British officered Indian Army, and was rightly seen by Nehru and his colleagues as merely perpetuating the segregation of the eight-unit scheme. Nehru and his colleagues demanded that the Indian people have control over their own defense, and that the rate of Indianization be significantly increased and facilitated by the opening of military training institutions in India. Only this, as Motilal Nehru forcefully expressed in a speech on March 8, 1928, would “get rid of the Europeanization of the Army.” 37 Events—specifically, the coming to power at Westminster of a Labour Government, and Viceroy Irwin’s pledge of Dominion-status for India in 1929—overtook the Simon Report. The Viceroy was now convinced that the time was right for an Indian Sandhurst, as a concession to Indian opinion in time for the upcoming Round Table Conferences on Indian constitutional reforms. 38 The Defence sub-committee of the first Round Table Conference (November, 1930 to January, 1931) had some prominent Indian moderate members, such as V.S. Srinivasa Sastri, Tej Bahadur Sapru, Mohammed Ali Jinnah, B.S. Moonje, P. Sethna, and M.R. Jayakar. Overall, it recommended increasing Indian autonomy from Britain in terms of defense. Focusing specifically on Indianization, it recommended that: The rate of Indianization be immediately increased, an Indian military college be established as soon as possible, and that a committee be set up as soon as possible to work out the details of its establishment. 39 The Indian Military College, or Chetwode, Committee met in May 1931, and issued its report that July. This Committee was more high-powered than the Skeen Committee. Besides having the CinC, General Sir Philip Chetwode, as its chair, it included the Chief of General Staff, the AdjutantGeneral, India, the Indian Government’s Army Secretary, and the Deputy Military Secretary, Army Headquarters. Non-officials included Sivaswamy Aiyar, and Captain Sher Mohammed Khan, a graduate of the Indore School. The Indian Government had, earlier that year, announced that the Eight Units’ Scheme would be replaced by the Indianization of twenty-five units. Moreover, these units would comprise infantry battalions, cavalry regiments and units of artillery and armor—in effect, a whole division of some fifteen thousand men. 40 The Chetwode Committee’s recommendations were, essentially, that an Indian military college be established without delay, to train sixty cadets per

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year in a three-year course. After the opening of such a college, the Committee recommended that Indian cadets should no more be eligible for entry into either Sandhurst or Woolwich. Their justification for this was that the greater prestige of a Sandhurst or Woolwich commission would lead to a diminution of esprit de corps when a British-trained KCIO had to serve with an Indiantrained commissioned officer. 41 Perhaps this was a reflection of British attitudes, where officers of the British service tended to look down their noses at officers of the Indian service. Another possibility was that Sandhurst and Woolwich had always regarded training Indians as an onerous task, to be jettisoned at the first opportunity; if this were so, what better chance than at the opening of a military college for Indians? That the martial race ideology was still alive and well is demonstrated by the Committee’s recommendation that half the cadetships be made up of selections from soldiers serving in the Indian Army. Of the remainder, twenty-four places yearly were to be filled by open competition, while the CinC would “ . . . have the right to fill six vacancies from among those candidates who . . . [had] . . . qualified at the entrance examination, but failed to secure a place in open competition.” The non-official members of the committee recommended that a higher proportion of vacancies be opened for competition, but were over-ruled. The age limits for eligibility to sit the entrance examination was to be between eighteen and twenty, which was the same age as that for Indian candidates at Sandhurst and Woolwich. The Committee was very thorough, even to the point of recommending sites for locating the Indian college: Satara, Mhow, or Dehra Dun. 42 But even the limited recommendations of the Chetwode Committee proved too radical for the Indian Government, for, when the Indian Military Academy was opened at Dehra Dun on October 1, 1932, its annual intake was fixed at only forty cadets. Fifteen of these cadets were to be selected from the Indian Army, fifteen by open competition, and ten selected from the Indian States Forces, as the old Imperial Service Troops were now called. Indians passing out of Dehra Dun were to be granted “ . . . a Commission as an Indian Commissioned Officer [ICO] in His Majesty’s Indian Land Forces,” instead of a regular King’s Commission. 43 It was clear the Whitehall was unwilling to give royal imprimator to the measure, and seemingly no thought was given to considering if the KCIO-ICO distinction could militate against the esprit de corps of the officer cadre. But perhaps this was the idea all along? Throughout the 1930s, the pace of Indianization remained slow, and because of this, there was a steady decrease in the number of Indians competing for entry by open competition. In 1932, 274 Indians took the IMA entrance examination, but six years later, this number had fallen to only 128. When Anglo-Indian officials cited these numbers as “proof” that Indians were not interested in careers as army officers, Indian MLAs like S. Satyamurthy shot

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back that it was widely known that ICOs were treated as inferiors. Therefore, it was no surprise that “the best [boys] in the country” did not choose a military career. 44 The discrimination to which Satyamurthy pointed to has been corroborated by both Sandhurst- and Dehra Dun–trained Indians. When D.K. Palit, who went to Sandhurst, joined his unit, 5/10th Baluch, . . . the Commanding Officer and the company commanders were British. I never went to their homes. Nobody ever asked me for a drink or tea or anything. We [IKCOs] lived amongst ourselves . . . We joined the club, of course, but we only went there for games. I never once saw an Indian officer ever share a table with a British officer or his wife. There were some who sought the company of the British, [but] we Indian officers called them toadies. 45

Things did not get much better after the IMA opened. J.S. Aurora, an IMA graduate who later commanded Indian forces in the 1971 Indo-Pakistani war, felt that British officers generally resented Indianization. [O]ne did come across a certain number of [British] officers who were apt to run down or be unduly supercilious about Indians. When it came to giving choice appointments or commands, the Indian officers did not get them. In fact, at one time it was proposed that Indian Commissioned Officers should have a separate mess. But . . . it was soon realised that it was going to make it extremely difficult for the Indian Commissioned Officers to get the respect that they must have if they are going to command troops. So, mercifully, this was not put into practice. 46

As war loomed ever closer in the late 1930s, Indian nationalists in the CLA increased their pressure on defense matters, including Indianization. In September 1938, the CLA passed a resolution calling for the immediate creation of a committee tasked with recommending ways of increasing Indianization. Bowing to such pressure, Delhi appointed an Indianization Committee under General Claude Auchinleck in May 1939. One of the people who testified before the Auchinleck Committee was Major K.M. Cariappa, an officer with wide experience of Indianizing units, who had gained his King’s Commission through the Indore school. Cariappa did not mince words. He criticized the slow pace of Indianization, which had produced only 250 Indian higher officers in the previous 20 years. Contending that IKCOs and ICOs could be every bit as good at the regimental officer level as British officers, Cariappa argued that the then current employment of Indian higher officers as platoon officers was like “using a Rolls-Royce to do the work of a Ford.” 47 This was already having a detrimental impact upon Indian KCOs and ICOs in Indianizing units who resented having to perform the same duties as VCOs in non-Indianizing units. But there was an institutionalized pedagogical hurdle too. As explained by Brigadier L.P. Collins, the IMA’s first commandant,

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Indian cadets there were trained in platoon-level skills, at the expense of regimental and staff work. Undoubtedly another “mutiny” hangover, the reasoning was that Indian higher officers fully trained in regimental and staff work would be all that more formidable if mutinous thoughts ever entered their heads. This may have been an additional factor contributing to the combat ineffectiveness of the rebel Indian National Army (INA) in World War II. Finally, Cariappa contended that there was a fundamental defect in the officer establishments of Indianizing units: the very few British officers posted to them were very senior, and the rest—all Indians—were very junior. This disparity meant that there was little chance to develop the comradeship with the units deemed so essential to military efficiency. Though the committee was sympathetic to Cariappa’s contetions, war intervened before it could make any concrete recommendations. 48 On October 1, 1939, a month after India had once more been dragged into a world war by Britain, without even the pretense of consulting Indian political opinion, 49 Indianizing units accounted for about 1/8th of the Indian Army, and Indian KCOs and ICOs accounted for about 9.9 percent of the total number of higher officers in the Army’s combatant arms. In June 1940, as a result of the wholesale expansion of the Indian Army then underway, the Government of India issued the following press communiqué: In effecting the expansion of the [Indian] Army which is now in hand, and the further expansion which is now proposed, all units of the Indian Army . . . will be thrown open to Indian Commissioned Officers. The principle of having certain purely Indianized units will now be abandoned and Indian Commissioned Officers . . . will be available for posting throughout the Indian Army, where their services can best be used. 50

This was later confirmed in Army Instruction (I) No. 76 of 1941. Moreover, in order to facilitate rapid expansion, all additional units were to be officered on the Indian pattern—that is, with Indian Officers. 51 Starting in January 1940, all Indian and British officers who graduated from the various officer-training schools that had been set up in India were given Emergency Commissions for wartime service only. As the Indian Army grew to approximately 2.2 million men during the course of World War II, so did its combatant officer corps. Overall, this grew almost ten times, from 4,424 in October 1939 to 42,930 in September 1945. The Indian portion of this total grew from 396 (8.9%) to 8340 (19.4%) in the same period. The proportion of Indian higher officers grew even more dramatically, from 1 in 10.1 (10%) to 1 in 4.1 (25%). The color bar was also broken in another significant way, in that Indians now commanded Britons. In mid1943—a particularly low ebb of British martial fortunes in Burma—Prime Minister Winston Churchill, himself an old India hand, grumbled to India Secretary Leo Amery about the “poor British soldier having to face the extra

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humiliation of being ordered about by a brown man.” At this stage of the game, the British “Tommy” did not mind. Marston cites two reasons why this was. First, the vast majority of British ECOs and other ranks, being from Britain itself, were not carrying the baggage of preconceived Anglo-Indian prejudices, and therefore mostly had no qualms about serving with, or under, Indians. Second, and perhaps most importantly, was the leadership of General Auchinleck, who during his second stint as CinC, actively promoted Indianization through various practical measures. The admiration many British officers felt for “the Auk” and his attitudes, Marston feels, led many to emulate them. To these must be added the superb and self-effacing leadership of Lieutenant-General “Bill” Slim, commander of the 14th Army in the India/Burma front, whose matter-of-fact characterization of his job as “ . . . simply to make fewer mistakes than the other fellow,” won the real love of the Britons, Indians, and Africans who served under him. 52 The shibboleths of Roberts, Eden and Rawlinson were finally falling away. By 1945 too, the pay inequity between British KCOs, KCIOs, and ICOs, which was cited as a main grievance by ICOs who defected to the wartime Indian National Army, 53 was leveled, and ICOs finally gained the right to sit in judgment of British officers at courts-martial. There was, apparently, a bit of a tussle over this measure: the India Office, the GoI, and the Indian Army supported it, while the War Office was opposed, direly asserting their suspicion that the EIC’s military high command “were saying the same kind of thing on the eve of the Mutiny.” Clearly, some antediluvian attitudes were still in play here. The Army Council overturned the War Office’s objection. 54 Moreover, after the war’s end, Indianization was not rolled back, for there was a general sense that India’s independence was imminent. 55 However, because of the slow rate of Indianization during the interwar period, and the policy of segregation that characterized it, in July 1943, an internal Indian Army report admitted that this policy had been a mistake. KCIOs and ICOs remained under-represented at the higher levels of command. In 1944, only a few KCIOs and ICO were fit for command at the brigade level, and the prospect of any of them commanding a division or a corps by 1945 was impossible. Auchinleck’s accelerated Indianization measures could not ameliorate this deficiency, and when independence came to India and Pakistan in 1947, the CinCs of their armies remained British, with disastrous consequences for the armed conflict that plagues the region to this day. 56 Cariappa, the first Indian CinC, only assumed that role in January 1949. 57 Reviewing the course of Indianization from 1917 to 1945, therefore, it is very hard indeed to dispute Auchinleck’s assessment:

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NOTES 1. Training School for Indian Cadets Indore: Object; para 2; Syllabus for Indian Civilian Cadets at TSICI, para 9, in BL(APAC):L/MIL/7/19017; Passing out roll Indore School, Oct. 1919, in BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19018; V.K. Singh, Leadership in the Indian Army, (New Delhi: Sage, 2005), pp. 21-2. 2. Detailed Scheme for Indianization, 1922, para. 1, [enclosure to Government of India, Army Department, Despatch No. 45 of 1922, 3 Aug. 1922], in BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19105; Report of the Committee of Imperial Defence (CID) Sub Committee on the Indianization of the Indian Army, 20 Dec. 1927, para. 7, CID 159D, TNACAB 6/5. 3. Ellinwood, Between Two Worlds, pp. 520-521; Rudolphs with Kanota, Reversing the Gaze, pp. 344-345. 4. These figures are derived from tables in BL(APAC): L/MIL/5/857. 5. Regulations of the Prince of Wales’s Royal Indian Military College, 1946, appendix II, para. 2, in BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19042. 6. Ibid., para. 1; For the development of legislative bodies in colonial India, see: S.R. Mehrotra, Towards India’s Freedom and Partition, 2nd ed., (New Delhi; Rupa, 2005), ch. 9; For Jinnah’s comment, see: Government of India, Central Legislative Assembly, Debates, 1927, vol. 4, pp. 3486-3487; vol. 5, pp. 4264-5. P. W. Fay, The Forgotten Army: India’s Armed Struggle for Independence, 1942-1945, (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1994), p. 29. 7. On the formation and ideology of the National Liberal Federation, see: Mehrotra, India and the Commonwealth, 1885-1929, ch. 4. 8. Aiyar, Sir Pazhamaneri Sundaram Sivaswamy, (1864-1946), Prominent Tamil lawyer and moderate nationalist; education: Presidency College, Madras and Madras Law College; member, Madras Legislative Council, 1904; Judge Advocate-General, Madras Presidency, 1907; co-founded National Liberal Federation, 1919; member, Central Legislative Assembly, 1920; championed Indianization; also wrote books on varied subjects such as Hindu moral ideas, library science, and EIC policy regarding princely states. See: K.A. Neelakanta Sastri, ed., A Great Liberal: the Speeches and Writings of Sir P. S. Sivaswamy Aiyar, (Bombay: Allied, 1965). 9. See: GOI, Report of the Army in India Committee, 1919-1920, (Calcutta: Superintendent Government Printing, 1920), terms of reference. For a full discussion and analysis, see: Jacobsen, pp. 163-178. 10. Government of India, Central Legislative Assembly, Debates, 1921, vol. 1, pp. 14491450. 11. Ibid., pp. 1739-1750. See also: Cohen, Indian Army, pp. 79-80. 12. Government of India, Central Legislative Assembly, Debates, 1929, vol. 1, pp. 18581859. 13. Rawlinson, Henry, 1st Baron, (1864-1925), British Army general; attended Eton and Sandhurst; commissioned King’s Royal Rifle Corps, 1884; saw action, Burma, 1886; transferred to Coldstream Guards, 1891; fought at Omdurman, 1898, and in 2nd Anglo-Boer War, 1899-1902; GOC 4th Division, BEF, 1914; GOC IV Corps, BEF; GOC, 4th Army, 1916; displayed unimaginative command skills in Somme fiasco, July-August 1916, but managed to escape censure; achieved stunning success at Amiens, August 1918; CinC India 1920-1925 unsympathetic to Indianization. 14. See: Rawlinson Diary, 8 Feb. 1924, Rawlinson Papers, NAM: 5201-33-24.

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15. Omissi, The Sepoy and the Raj, p. 169; Jacobsen, “Modernization,” p. 228; K. Roy, “The Armed Expansion of the English East India Company, 1740s-1849,” in Marston and Sundaram, eds., A Military History of India. 16. General Sir John Shea, General Staff Branch India, Scheme for the Indianization of the Indian Army, 10 Jan. 1922, in Telegram: V to SSI, 24 Jan. 1922, IMR 59, TNA CAB 6/4. 17. Jacobsen, “Modernization,” pp. 229-230. See also: Menezes, Fidelity and Honour, ch. 11. 18. Queen Victoria’s Own Light Infantry. 19. Minutes of The Indian Military Requirements sub-Committee, CID, Meeting 10, 21 Feb. 1922, p. 3, TNA PRO CAB: 16/38(I). See also: Government of India, The Army of India and Its Evolution, p. 165. 20. Government of India, Legislative Assembly, Debates, 1923, vol. 3(III), pp. 2419, 2459; D.P. Marston, The Indian Army and the End of the Raj, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014), p. 27. 21. Ibid. Of this latter number, 543 were from the unattached list, 32 from the British service, 96 from the Indian Army’s Reserve of Officers, and 1 from the Colonial forces. 22. See: Report of the Indian Sandhurst [Skeen] Committee, 14 Nov. 1926, [hereafter: Skeen Committee Report . . . ], pp. 1-10, CID 155D TNA CAB 6/5. See also: P.S. Gupta, “The Debate on Indianization, 1918-1939,” “The Debate on Indianization, 1918-1939,” in P.S. Gupta and A. Deshpande, eds., The British Raj and Its Indian Armed Forces; and A. Deshpande, “Contested Identities and Military Indianization in Colonial India, 1900-1939,” in Roy, ed., War and Society in Colonial India, 1807-1945. 23. Skeen Committee Report, 14 Nov. 1926, p. 23, CID 155D, TNA PRO: CAB 6/5. 24. Ibid. pp. 17-18; 20. 25. Ibid., p. 24;The Chief’s Schools, which had been much-praised by Chesney and Curzon as purveyors of public school education, were not even mentioned in the Skeen Committee’s report. 26. Skeen Committee Report, p. 16, CID 155D, TNA CAB 6/5. 27. Note of Statements made by Indian cadets at Sandhurst regarding the Official Guardian, 1926, in BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19086. 28. Chelmsford, quoted in Note by A.H. Bingley, 8 Jan. 1917, in GOI F&PD Notes, Secret I, Jan. 1918, Prog. 14, NAI. 29. See: Skeen Committee Report, Appendix IV, CID 155D, TNA CAB 6/5. 30. Ibid., foreword; H.N. Kunzru, “The Indian Sandhurst Committee,” Indian Review, 1926, p. 705. 31. Jacobsen, p. 237. The Dominion Army scheme had been first proposed by LieutenantGeneral Sir A. S. Cobbe, Secretary to the India Office’s Military Department, in 1921. It was essentially a warmed-over version of Chesney’s 1888 scheme, See: Lieutenant-General Sir A.S. Cobbe, The Indianization of the Indian Army, 14 Sept. 1921, IMR 17, TNA PRO: CAB 16/38(II). 32. Report of the CID Sub-Committee on the Indianization of the Indian Army, 20 Dec. 1927, para. 27, CID 159D, TNA PRO: CAB 6/5. See, also: Omissi, The Sepoy and the Raj, pp. 180-181; and Jacobsen, p. 238. 33. Birdwood, Field Marshall Sir William Riddell, (1865-1951) Indian Army cavalry officer; Assistant Military Secretary and Military Secretary, India Office, 1902-1909; Commanded the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps in the Gallipoli fiasco; GOC,Indian Army Northern Command 1920-1925; CinC India, 1925-1930. See: W. Birdwood, Khaki and Gown, (London: Constable, 1930). 34. Longer, Red Coats, p. 199; Omissi, Sepoy and the Raj, pp. 181-182. 35. Government of India, Central Legislative Assembly, Debates, 1928, vol. 2(I), p. 1342. 36. Jacobsen, p. 257; Longer, p. 204. 37. Report of the Indian Statutory Commission, vol. II:-Recommendations, Cmd. 3589 1930, vol. 1, para. 126; S. Raghavan, India’s War: The Making of Modern South Asia, 19391945, (London: Allen Lane, 2016), pp. 83; 476. 38. Jacobsen, p. 254. The best interpretation of the tortuous course of Indian politics during this period is: R.J. Moore, “The Making of India’s Paper Federation, 1927-1935,” in R.J.

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Moore, Endgames of Empire: Studies of Britain’s Indian Problem, (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1988) 39. Longer, Red Coats, p. 205. 40. Government of India, Report of the Indian Military College Committee, 15 Jul. 1931, [hereafter: Chetwode Committee Report], para. 2; Omissi, The Sepoy and the Raj, p. 183. 41. Chetwode Committee Report, para. 58. 42. Ibid., paras. 15-18, 59. 43. Longer, p. 209. 44. Omissi, Sepoy and the Raj, p. 187; Sharma, Nationalisation, pp. 164-165. 45. Z. Masani, Indian Tales of the Raj, (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1987), p. 25. 46. Ibid. 47. Sharma, Indianisation, p. 165. 48. Brigadier L.P. Collins, “Lecture given to the United Service Institution of India,” .n.d., Journal of the United Service Institution of India, 64 (Jan.-Oct. 1934), p. 520; Sundaram, “Grudging Concessions,” p. 100. 49. S. Raghavan, India’s War, ch. 1. 50. For the full text, see: BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19112. 51. Marston, Phoenix from the Ashes: The Indian Army in the Burma Campaign, (Westport: Praeger, 2003), p. 222. 52. S.N. Prasad, Expansion of the Armed Forces and Defence Organisation, 1939-45, New Delhi: Orient Longman, 1961), p. 182; C.A.V. Wilson, Churchill on the Far East in The Second World War: Hiding the History of the “Special Relationship,” (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2014), pp. 29; 329; ch. 6; L. James, Churchill and Empire, (New York: Pegasus, 2014), p. 294. Marston, Phoenix, p. 228; R. Lyman, The Generals: From Defeat to Victory, Leadership in Asia, 1941-45, (London: Constable, 2008), p. 298. 53. Shah Nawaz Khan, My Memories of the INA and its Netaji, (Bombay: Rajkamal, 1946) p. 15. See also: Chandar S. Sundaram, “The Indian National Army: a Preliminary Study of its Formation and Campaigns,” (unpub. MA thesis, McGill University, 1985), p. 23. 54. Marston, Phoenix, p. 223. 55. This sentiment is eloquently conveyed in Paul Scott, A Division of the Spoils: A Novel, (New York: Morrow, 1975). For hard historical analysis, see: R.J. Moore, Escape from Empire: The Attlee Government and the Indian Problem, (Oxford: Clarendon, 1983). 56. Marston, Phoenix, pp. 224-6. On the first Indo-Pakistani War of 1947-1948, see: L.P. Sen, Slender Was the Thread: Kashmir Confrontation, 1947-48, (Hyderabad: Orient Longman, 1994; reprint of 1969 edn.) 57. Menezes, Fidelity and Honour, p. 525. 58. Auchinleck to Amery, 12 Oct. 1940, in BL(APAC): L/MIL/7/19156. For an assessment of Auchinleck as CinC India, See: Marston, The Indian Army and the End of the Raj.

Conclusion Of “Psychological Moments” and “Persistant Agitation”

This book has argued that the 1917 decision to open the King’s Commissioned Officer ranks of the Indian Army's officer corps to Indians, which initiated its Indianization, did not spring forth, fully formed and armed like Athena, from the mind of Montagu or any other British official, and was not hastily tacked on, almost as an afterthought, to the Government of India’s political reform package unveiled in 1917–19. The preceding pages have shown that the decision to allow Indians higher commissions was the product of a long process of discussion and debate, which stretched back, in one form or another, at least to 1817, and generated a plethora of schemes and counterschemes. This book thus provides a useful corrective to most of what has been hitherto written on Indianization, which has either largely ignored the pre-1917 portion of the debate, or has superficially depicted it as “cathartic” and a smooth, government-sanctioned process. Put simply, it was anything but! Indianization was an important issue of the Raj’s military policy, because it was seen to involve an “organic change in the leadership principle,” 1 a fundamental and radical alteration in the command structure of the Indian Army that, if taken to its logical conclusion, would bring to an end the British monopoly of military leadership in India. This stranglehold was something that Anglo-India saw as integral to the maintenance of its power in the region. This underlines the fact that, contrary to the so-called mainstream of modern Indian historiography, the Indian Army was an important buttress of British rule in India, and one which Anglo-Indians regarded as the major source of their power over India. Additionally, this book has proven that in the pre-1917 era, the Indianization issue consistently occupied the attentions 227

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of the highest echelons of official Anglo-India, princely India and moderate nationalist India. We will now revisit and fully expand upon the questions and subquestions outlined in the introduction of this book, which animated debate over the Indianization issue in both the pre- and post-1917 eras. To briefly reiterate, the two main questions were: whether or not Indians were equal to Britons in terms of their aptitude and ability for military leadership; and if indeed Indians were capable of the same level of military leadership as were Britons, how then were they to be integrated into the military system of the Raj so as not to threaten its very existence? These questions, as well as the sub-questions generated by the debate around them, were inter-connected. However, we can treat the most important of them individually to fully understand the forgotten debate. On the first question, in the pre-1857 period, Anglo-Indian opinion seemed to lean toward the idea that, in a land like India, whose history had been characterized by the rise and fall of empires and polities almost too numerous to comprehend, men with military leadership aptitudes simply had had to exist. Moreover, Anglo-Indian military authorities had themselves encouraged the development of Indian military traits and skills by training its sepoys according to the latest European military doctrine of the day. This was vital to the Anglo-Indian expansionist enterprise. To turn around and tell these men that they could rise no higher than a subordinate position in the EIC’s military would, according to Henry Lawrence, surely be galling. Indeed, it was already leading to a potentially dangerous-to-the-British situation, where European military knowledge was being disseminated to Indian kingdoms by disgruntled ex-EIC sepoys. Lawrence’s idea was admittedly vague, and one wonders whether, had he lived beyond the “Mutiny,” he would have been prepared to try to convince his Anglo-Indian colleagues to countenance Indianization. The events of 1857 marked a rupture that generated understandable distrust in the minds of Anglo-Indian military authorities, because the rebellious Indians, especially those sepoys who had mutinied, had been “disloyal.” It had been a close call for the imperialists. That they ultimately won confirmed in the minds of many Anglo-Indians the superiority of British military acumen and leadership over the Indian. General Sir Frederick Roberts, in opposing Chesney’s schemes, believed strongly that military leadership was “an attribute of race,” and that the “ . . . power of dominating the wills of men, that carries them forward in battle and controls them in quarters, belong[ed] to the stronger nature.” Although “natives” might have been as brave as “Englishmen,” Roberts—who, as CinC India during the years in which Chesney was Military Member, could, and did, play a large part in killing Chesney’s Indianization proposals—believed that they did not possess the faculty of command to the same degree. Another of Chesney’s adversaries on the

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Indianization front, Sir Ashley Eden, took exception to the officering of units in the scheme that Chesney and Stewart first forwarded to London. "No one,” he wrote, “would pretend to believe for one moment that regiments commanded and officered by natives of India would be equal either in the field or in cantonment, to regiments commanded and officered by British officers.” This was echoed by Roberts, who maintained that the Indian higher officer “however carefully he may have been educated, and however clever he may be, will never be looked upon by the British soldier as one fit to be a commander.” In 1915, the conservative Indian civilian Sir Reginald Craddock could still warn the Viceroy that it was inadvisable for the government to “curry political favour or to appease interest groups . . . [by] . . . pressur[ing] the Indian Army into employing potentially unreliable men . . . [and that] such an absolute equality of the races . . . [that Indianization implied was] . . . incompatible with our position in this country.” On the other hand, since it was accepted that the Anglo-Indian victory in 1857 was due to their superior military skill, General Sir Charles Reid questioned the wisdom of “selecting men as officers from the higher classes [of Indians], educating them, and training them in the arts of war . . . [which] would make them . . . dangerous characters, and rather too efficient.” The danger here being of course that efficiency in arms would make “the native” all the more harder to put down, if, indeed, he ever rose up militarily once more against Anglo-India. Chesney himself was quite unshakable in believing that, on the grounds of justice and good policy, the time had come to stop regarding the “native” as a “subordinate military tool.” Rather, Chesney advocated that the time had come to associate Indians with the Anglo-Indian military establishment as “intelligent agents” by offering them higher commissions in the Indian Army. He also pointed out the inherent hypocrisy and tergiversation of Anglo-Indian policy, which, while professing to adhere to the promise in the Queen’s Proclamation that Indians “of whatever race, creed [would] be freely admitted to posts in Her Majesty’s Government of India,” was a “dead letter,” as far as the Indian Army was concerned. In proposing this, he was, in part, reacting to the opinions of, and pressure by, the Indian Babu intelligentsia, and wanted to forestall their “definite agitation” for Indianization. Evolving from the scribal, learned and service elites of pre-colonial India, and schooled, through English education, in a “political modernity” based on Classical Western Liberalism, this class used its mouthpieces—the booming Indian-language press, and the just-created pan-Indian Indian National Congress—to promote issues of importance to Indians, one of which was Indianization. Babus based their demand for Indianization on five main planks: that India had, in past ages, produced a very high standard of military leadership that past conquerors of India, such as the Delhi Sultans and the Mughals, had been eager to tap into; that since 1857, Indians had overwhelmingly been loyal to their British overlords; that replacing British K(Q)COs with Indian

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K(Q)COs would considerably lessen the military burden on the Indian exchequer; that the denial of higher military leadership skills and experience to Indians would be disastrous in the event of a British withdrawal, because it would leave Indians defenseless against foreign invasions, much as the thencurrent historiography claimed Britons were when the Romans exited in 410 CE; and finally, that, to inculcate these skills among Indians, a military college be founded in India. Chesney was fully aware of these sentiments. There was a remarkable continuity between the above arguments supporting Indianization and those deployed by Sir Sivaswamy Aiyar, Mohammed Ali Jinnah, C.S. Ranga Iyer, and their like-minded colleagues in the Indian Central Legislative Assembly in the 1920s and 1930s. The second question—that of how to integrate Indians as higher commissioned officers in the military system of the Raj—was a crucial one in the whole Indianization debate, including the period after 1917. Here the issue of safety, of not even slightly endangering the continuance of the Raj, or even appearing to do so, was paramount. This accounts for the experimental nature of almost all the schemes adumbrated in the forgotten debate, apart from those like Briggs’s and Kitchener’s, which were only aimed at Indian Officers. Chesney, in 1885, only proposed the Indianization of a single unit, which, by the time the Indian government sent it to the India Office, had been expanded to two. The idea was to start cautiously, and make Indianization’s expansion contingent upon the performance of Indian QCOs posted to the special regiments. This proved to be a persistent feature of most of the schemes proposed in the pre- and post-1917 era. It found expression not only in Chesney’s proposal, but also in Roberts’ frontier levies scheme that was designed only for Indian officers. Curzon’s Imperial Cadet Corps scheme was also “experimental.” Senior “Indian civilians” like Sir Alfred Lyall dismissively and arrogantly opined that the ICC could be quietly dropped if unsuccessful. Cameron’s Imperial Mounted Infantry scheme met with much the same reception. Indeed, in the period of the forgotten debate six was the highest number of units Anglo-Indian officials ever proposed to Indianize. Significantly, this issued from the pen of an Anglo-Indian civilian—Craddock—rather than from a military officer. That he proposed it in 1915 may suggest some slight liberalization amid the fraught circumstances of the Great War. This tone of experimentation carried over to the post-1917 period. One need only to point to Cobbe’s Dominion Army scheme of 1921, and Rawlinson’s eight-unit scheme of 1923—itself a doubling of an original plan to Indianize but four units—and the 1931 Indianization of a single 25-unit division to comprehend this. Indeed, the only plan to propose the Indianization of the whole Indian Army was the Shea committee’s three-stage proposal, but this was more of an academic exercise, as it would have been extremely naïve to expect that the ever-cautious India Office to accept such a

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radical plan. However, another possible motive for advancing so radical a plan might have been to placate nationalist India—to show it that at least one section of the Anglo-Indian military favored extensive Indianization, and to represent Army HQ India in a much more favorable light to them than either Calcutta or London. This was deemed especially important in the post–World War I era, when the Indian nationalists who were elected to the Central Legislative Assembly began persistently agitating for greater Indianization. Now that we have discussed the two main questions, we can consider some of the more important sub-questions. Existence and Legitimacy. Did a demand for Indianization really and legitimately exist; and did it exist among Indians themselves; and if so, which class of Indians? Opponents of the Indianization demand denigrated its validity. Reacting to Chesney’s first proposal, India Secretary Kimberley voiced this opinion, as did the then CinC, General Frederick Roberts. Roberts thought the demand for Indianization was spurious, because the ordinary sepoy and Indian Officer, on whom Anglo-India regarded Roberts as an acknowledged expert, endeavored “to lead a quiet life . . . [seeking] . . . the highest pension he can receive . . . [and] . . . a few acres of land.” Moreover, the Indian soldier himself recognized that higher commissions were “properly reserved for the governing [British] race.” Initiatives and entreaties by the emergent English-educated Indian professional Babu classes who, having internalized the values of “political modernity,” advocated for a greater participation of Indians in their own government and administration, were dismissed, almost out of hand. Applying “difference”—the notion that a “Rajput who reads will never ride a horse”— Babus were deemed to lack the charisma of a leader, both in terms of character and physical ability. Their Indianization demands, were, for the most part, dismissed as illegitimate by the Anglo-Indian establishment, as the brainchild of “the misguided Englishmen and Hindus who direct the machinations of the [Indian] National Congress.” Indianization’s Indian proponents naturally criticized this as being grossly unfair, and discriminatory. They had a definite point. The denigration of the Babu was yet another point of continuity between the pre- and post-1917 Indianization debate, as evidenced by Gurmuk Singh’s observation that Anglo-Indian army recruiters were biased against even educated members of the “martial races”; the Renouf amendment; and CinC Rawlinson’s arrogant dismissal of Indians as “a lot of sheep.” Indeed, this book has shown that the basis of the recruitment of Indians into the King’s Commissioned ranks was essentially set, almost in stone, in a meeting at Army Headquarters India in early 1917, and which was communicated to London in telegram 3452. Yet even Chesney, in his Indianization proposals, favored Indian gentlemen from the north Indian landowning and aristocratic classes, the descen-

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dants of hereditary chieftains who had occupied important posts in precolonial Indian polities, but were increasingly being shut out of meaningful employment under the Raj, because they did not have the education required, and also because the type of work on offer did not appeal to their martial proclivities. This is why the Maharaja Cooch Behar’s 1897 appeal to the India Office was championed with such alacrity. Here was definite evidence that Indians who conformed to the Raj’s ideal of “martiality,” and thus acceptability, were interested in higher commissions. Though Sir Nripendra’s request was unsuccessful, it was seized upon by Hamilton, Curzon and Walter Lawrence to create the Imperial Cadet Corps. Powers of Command and Postings. This was of crucial importance, since, in any army, the main function of an officer is to command and lead troops. Simply put, were Indians to be granted full King’s (or Queen’s) Commissions—the same as those conferred upon Britons—thus empowering them to command all men junior to them in rank, irrespective of whether these men were Indian or British; or was some lesser type of commission to be bestowed upon Indians, entitling them only to command Indian troops, or, alternatively, no troops at all? This was a vexing question for the AngloIndian military and political establishment, for admitting Indians to full officer commissions would be a tangible admission of equality between the Indian and British “races.” Chesney was very careful about this, proposing the initial posting of a single Indian QCO to a single regiment, on a trial basis. Particularly important was the perceived effect of higher commissions for Indians on British officers and other ranks. On this point, CinC Roberts was adamant, contending that both British QCOs and other rankers thought themselves to be infinitely better soldiers and leaders of men than the most powerful high-born Indian, and would not tolerate serving under Indians. Yet, Roberts was not being entirely honest here, because, as he himself admitted privately to India Secretary Randolph Churchill, British QCOs to whom he had spoken were not as entirely opposed to Chesney’s two-regiment Indianization scheme as he thought they would have been. Some officials, like Power Palmer and Kitchener, suggested an upper limit on the officer rank Indians could attain, while others, like Kimberley, Cross and Curzon, thought the solution lay in “extra-regimental billets” on staffs or as aides-de-camp, where the powers-of-command question would be irrelevant. Whereas Curzon thought the Indian nobles and aristocrats who attended the ICC would be satisfied with these billets in the HMNILF, astute observers, like Crosthwaite, Power Palmer, Watson, and Cameron, pointed out the folly of the idea, especially as the official announcement of the Corps, as well as its draft rules—both public documents—stated explicitly that graduates of the third-year course at the Corps would “be able to take their place in the Imperial Army as British officers.” Events proved them to be right:

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The ICC showed, in stark relief, what could not be done in the matter of Indianization. One could not set up a training institution and make vague promises of future employment and then fail to honor these promises by not providing meaningful and satisfying postings. Also, one could not set up a military training corps under the Foreign Department and expect full Military Department cooperation; although in a somewhat backhanded way, it was Curzon’s portrayal of the ICC as a political proposal rather than as a strictly military one that ensured its creation. It also showed that Indian noble and gentlemanly classes had expectations and could not be taken for granted. The ICC raised the expectation among Indians for full and substantive King’s Commissions, with full powers of command, and could not be “quietly dropped,” as Hirtzel proposed. Connected to this was the question of postings. Indians would, as subalterns, have to begin at the lowest rung of the officer establishments of units. The real question, however, was “which units”? Were Indian subalterns to be posted throughout the Indian Army solely on the basis of need, or were they to receive only staff appointments, where they would command no one? A third option was to post them to certain units specially earmarked for Indianization, on an “experimental” trial basis. Official Anglo-Indian opinion favored this option, but there were differences. While most supported posting Indian subalterns to Indian Army units, a few officials like General Duff favored posting them to the most prestigious units of the Home Army, in order to quash any racial prejudice against them. Military Efficiency and Security. Armies, to be effective, have to be efficient in all their aspects, from logistics to leadership. In order to be efficient, and effective, military leadership has to rely on linkages of trust, respect, and comradeship between all ranks concerned, from the lowest private soldier to the highest five-star general or field marshal. If these bonds are somehow broken, the essential morale and esprit de corps of the military unit, upon which its fighting efficiency depends, will be diminished, leading to its uselessness at its given task. From the camaraderie perspective, both Indianization’s Anglo-Indian proponents and opponents were ever mindful of “social difficulties” arising from having what, at times, was indelicately referred to as “wogs in the officers’ mess.” Predictably, Indianization’s Indian proponents were highly critical and dismissive of the social difficulties question, which they perceived as a smokescreen for dyed-in-the-wool racism, stemming from a basic distaste at having to serve with Indians, and treating them as colleagues, as equals and potentially, as superiors. Another aspect of this question concerned the basic ability of Indians as Army officers to discharge their duties efficiently in war and peace at the same level of professionalism as their British counterparts. In the Company Raj, it was argued that some men with superior military leadership abilities would not be hard to find in the vast “Native Army.” Giving these men an outlet for their natural career

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ambitions in the form of substantive command responsibilities would only strengthen the bonds of loyalty upon which Company rule depended, and minimize the exodus of these ambitious men to the armies of Indian rulers, where they could rise to be generals, and, possibly, rulers themselves. Others, after 1858, believed that no Indian could exercise command as efficiently as a British officer. According to them, Army units laden with Indian higher officers in place of British officers would necessarily suffer a diminution of efficiency, which could prove very dangerous to the “national security” of British India, in the event of a Russian invasion, which was seen as a real threat by Anglo-India in the late nineteenth century, and again after the Bolshevik revolution of 1917. Still others viewed the security concern from another angle, maintaining that giving Indians officer training would make them rather too efficient. They would thus pose a real danger to the Raj’s security in the event of a crisis, like 1857. This was one of the favorite arguments of Indianization’s opponents, one which they direly intoned whenever the opportunity presented itself. Location of Training. Where would Indian higher officer cadets in fact be trained? As this book has shown, opinions varied greatly here. The War Office consistently stipulated Sandhurst training, which it advocated both from the perspective of professionalism and standardization. Another consideration favoring Sandhurst, and later Woolwich, was that, by being located in England itself, they had infinitely more prestige than any officer-training facility in India possibly could have. In the intensely class-conscious Raj, prestige and snobbery were palpable entities, and were thought to have both favorable and detrimental ramifications for Anglo-Indian society, of which military officers, who had an almost caste-like self-image, were an integral part. Prestige also impinged on sepoys, in that a belief firmly implanted in Anglo-Indian ideology regarding Indianization was that the sepoy would have more trust for a British KCO than he would for an Indian KCO. From the perspective of those, like Hirtzel, whose view of Indianization could not be described as entirely sanguine, an added advantage to Sandhurst training was its expense, which would put it out of the realm of financial possibility for the vast majority of Indians. Other participants in the forgotten debate were against Sandhurst training precisely because Sandhurst was in England. Some Army officers, taking care to uphold and valorize the difference between Indian and Briton, maintained that Indian parents were very fearful to send their sons to England, where they would be exposed to influences that would destroy their position in the traditional caste hierarchy. 2 This applied especially to the Indian princely and aristocratic class, whom the Raj, echoing Lytton, saw as the upholders of traditional India, and a counterweight to the Babus’ rising power and influence. The ICC seemed to be the perfect venue, but we have seen that here too there was some dispute. Some Rajput princes disliked its Dehra

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Dun location, preferring instead its relocation to Ajmer, right in the heart of the Rajputana Agency. To no-nonsense military officers such as Dunlop Smith, such grumblings were frivolous. The Indian intelligentsia, however, maintained that, if the British were truly sincere about establishing liberal institutions in India, they had to admit the essential rightness of a military academy in India, established tor Indians. In 1921, Sir P.S. Sivaswamy Aiyar passed the following judgment on the century-long debate which resulted in the grudging concession of the Indianization of the Indian Army’s officer corps: “It is a characteristic of British ruIe in India . . . that they never have the knack for doing the right thing at the right time. They let the psychological moment pass by, and reasonable demands for justice and fair play are conceded only after years of persistent agitation.” 3 When did the “psychological moment” of which Sir Sivaswamy spoke occur? Surveying the forgotten debate, one can identify at least six possibilities. It could have occurred in 1885, with Chesney’s special regiment proposal, or with his more developed 1888 plan, which called for Indianization and an Indian military college. It could have been the Imperial Cadet Corps, had it not been viewed as a mere ornament by the headstrong and stubborn Curzon, who clung to the “extra-regimental billet” concept, haughtily resisting all reasonable and workable attempts, such as Watson’s Local Imperial Troop idea, to tie Corps graduation to tangible commissions, if only in the Imperial Service units. Performance reports on officers so posted would have been a militarily “safe” way to assess their functioning, and would have been an ideal route for initiating Indianization of the regular Indian Army. It could have been in 1911, when Morley’s special committee could have sanctioned Indianization, but cravenly concluded that more study was needed. One feels compelled to agree here with Ali Abbas Baig’s contention that more study would only “revive the interminable controversies which have raged around the question and thus . . . delay, perhaps indefinitely, the solution of a problem which . . . [had] . . . engaged the attention of British administrators ever since 1844.” It could have been the Training School for Indian Cadets at Indore, which proved to be entirely practical institution, on a par with Sandhurst, but fell victim to the end of the First World War, which removed its immediate need. Finally, it could have been the Shea Committee plan, which, had it been implemented, would have shown farsightedness, and demonstrated the Raj’s real sincerity in accepting Indianization, and in trying to make it work. The implicit tension undergirding the whole debate, from Chesney’s “dead letter” to Sivaswamy Aiyer’s “psychological moments,” is the one between trusteeship and participation. The 1858 proclamation promising participation was Whitehall’s confidence trick, a piece of imperial frippery, under which trusteeship continued more or less unabated, and was even further consolidated. Indeed, the Raj developed participation only when it

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was financially expedient. The power of local governments, and of Indians within them, was only allowed to develop when the Raj wanted to offload “responsibility” (read liability). At its heart, the trusteeship-participation issue, at least in the Anglo-Indian context, was Orwellian: “All Animals are Equal, but Some Animals are More Equal than Others.” 4 As most AngloIndians developed a siege mentality after the 1857 upheaval, this especially applied to the Indian Army, which, for their presumed safety, they were determined to keep firmly under their control. The fictive nature of “participation” is amply demonstrated by the following. Lord Curzon, who actually inserted the phrase “responsible government” in Montagu’s August 20, 1917, declaration, later wrote that “when the Cabinet used the expression ‘ultimate self-government,’ they probably contemplated an intervening period of 500 years.” 5 R.J. Moore has shown that this sentiment was not an uncommon one among Curzon’s Conservative and Liberal colleagues, like Lord Birkenhead, the India Secretary, 1924-1928, and Sir John Simon, who headed the Indian Statutory Commission (1928-1930). Birkenhead thought it was “inconceivable” that India would ever be fit for dominion status. Simon was only a touch more sanguine, anticipating a “prolonged evolution” before India would be ready for nationhood. 6 The following passage, from the Report of the Indian Statutory Commission (1930), further buttresses my argument: Political thought in India today is derived from Europe. The keen intelligence of the educated Indian has been stimulated by [the] study of Western Institutions. It is remarkable how the theories and phrases of political science as expounded in England and America have been adopted and absorbed. But the sudden impact of ideas drawn from the experience and conditions of other peoples in other climates is bound to have a disturbing effect. Down to thirty or forty years ago India stood entirely outside the influence of the course of political ideas which at length produced democratic self-government in some other parts of the world. But in the last generation she has been swayed, at one and the same time, by the force of several conceptions which in Europe had followed a certain sequence. Thus, the struggle for power between certain religious communities, the rise of an intense national spirit, the spread of toleration, the rise of democracy, and the controversies of socialism, mark fairly well-defined epochs in European history. But, in India, these various influences are contending side by side for the allegiance of the politically minded. The growth of national self-consciousness is retarded by communal separatism. The movement towards Western industrialism is countered by the return to the spinning wheel. 7 The equality of the Asiatic and the European is proclaimed, while the clash of Brahmin and non-Brahmin, or caste and outcast, is intensified. Ultra-democratic institutions are propounded, although the long process which was a necessary antecedent to democracy in Europe, viz. the breaking down of class and communal and occupational barriers, has only just begun. Indian political though finds it tempting to foreshorten history. It is impatient of the doctrine of gradualness. 8

Conclusion

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Gradualness was rightly seen by political India as a smokescreen for prevarication. World War II—in which Britain, unexpectedly and alarmingly finding its back to the wall, was compelled, much to the dismay of Prime Minister Churchill, to call upon India’s manpower and material assistance, including unlimited Indianization—radically changed this. 9 In deeply examining and analyzing the forgotten debate, this book has shown that it is just as important as, and indeed set the template for, the welltrodden, “stale” ground of interwar Indianization policy. It has also explained why the “psychological moments” outlined above were not seized upon, denying Anglo-India any possible goodwill from Indians that would have accrued from them. In the end, the imperialists acted substantially on Indianization only when the international situation, first in 1917 and then in 1940–1942, forced their backs up against the proverbial wall. NOTES 1. Unless specifically attributed, quotes in this conclusion will remain unreferenced, as they have already appeared in the book. 2. These fears resonated with Indians as well. To cite a famous example, Gandhi, upon returning from England to India with a law degree in 1891, had to undergo ritual purification before being allowed back into his Modh Baniya caste. See: M.K. Gandhi, An Autobiography: The Story of My Experiments with Truth, (Boston: Beacon Press, 1957), p. 90. 3. Government of India, Central Legislative Assembly, Debates, 1921, vol. 1, p. 1697. 4. George Orwell, Animal Farm: A Fairy Story, (London: Secker and Warburg, 1945), p. 90. Recent histories have alluded to it as well. See: Ashley Jackson, The British Empire: A Very Short Introduction, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013). 5. R. Danzig, “The Announcement of August 20th 1917,” in The Journal of Asian Studies, 28(1) 1968, p. 31 6. See: R.J. Moore, “The Problem of Freedom with Unity,” in Moore, Endgames of Empire, p. 34. 7. A mean-spirited jab at Gandhi. 8. Sir John Simon, et al., Report of the Indian Statutory Commission, (Calcutta: Government of India Central Publications Branch, 1930), vol. I, para. 460. 9. See: Cat Wilson, Churchill and the Far East in The Second World War: Hiding the History of the “Special Relationship,” (Houndmills, Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2014).

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Index

Abu’l Fazl, 13 Act of Settlement (1690), 70, 71, 179, 180, 182 Afghanistan, 27, 41, 42, 121 Aitchison, Sir Charles U., 47 Aitchison College, Lahore, 47, 63 Aiyar, Sir P.S. Sivaswamy, 213, 216, 219, 229, 235 Ajmer, 47, 120, 234 Alikhanov-Avarsky, Colonel (Alikhanoff), 53, 54, 64 Alwar, 44, 116 Anglo-Indians, short definition of, 7n2 Army Headquarters, India or Simla, 42, 72, 114, 126, 132, 151, 168, 188, 231 Asia or Asiatic, 41, 53, 84, 185, 236 Asia, Central, 41, 53, 84 Asquith, Herbert H., 124, 171 Auchinleck, Lieutenant-General Sir Claude J.E., 6, 221, 222, 223 Babu or Baboo, 6, 40, 47, 50, 56, 59, 67, 94, 118, 119, 129, 166, 177, 213, 229, 231, 234 Baig, Mirza Abbas Ali, 138, 142, 235 Balfour, Lord Arthur J., 217 Bannerjea, Surendranath, 42, 67 Barasat Military Seminary, 17 Barr, Colonel Sir David, 88, 138, 141, 142 Barrackpore Mutiny, 19

Barrow, General Sir Edmund G., 148, 149, 170, 171, 186, 190, 191, 192 Beck, Sir Theodore, 64, 72 Begum of Bhopal, 99 Bengal Army, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 36, 53, 54, 60 Besant, Annie, 183 Bharat Mihir, 44 Bharat Mitra, 42 Bhavnagar, 115, 116 Bikaner, 44, 166 Birdwood, General Sir William, 218 Birkenhead, Lord (F.E. Smith), 235 Blood, General Sir Bindon, 168 Bombay Presidency or Bombay, 22, 27, 38, 47, 150 Bombay Army, 11, 21, 34, 168 Brackenbury, General Sir Henry, 65, 72 Briggs, Lieutenant Colonel John, 34, 35, 60, 230 Britain, 6, 11, 15, 21, 23, 27, 34, 37, 38, 40, 41, 43, 45, 46, 62, 67, 84, 85, 92, 128, 135, 148, 149, 151, 163, 165, 184, 185, 198, 219, 222, 237 British India, or British Indian, or British Raj, 1, 2, 3, 4, 11, 15, 17, 19, 20, 21, 24, 26, 35, 36, 37, 39, 40, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46, 56, 57, 59, 60, 62, 64, 67, 83, 85, 92, 94, 96, 98, 109, 110, 111, 112, 114, 119, 120, 128, 133, 137, 142, 143, 149, 150, 152, 168, 175, 179, 180, 183, 196,

255

256

Index

227, 228, 230, 231, 232, 233, 234, 235 Brownlow, Lieutenant-General Sir Charles, 51 Burdwan Sanjivani, 43 Burma, 15, 27, 45, 96, 165, 222 Burma Military Police, 176 Calcutta city, 45 Calcutta University, 38 Cambay, 100 Cameron, Captain or Major Donald H., 92, 100, 101, 117, 118, 119, 120, 122, 124, 126, 132, 150, 151, 230 Cannadine, David, 5 Carson, Sir Edward, 200, 201 Cariappa, Kodandera Madappa, 211, 221, 223 Central India, 19, 47, 92, 109, 120 Central Legislative Assembly or CLA, 19, 212, 213, 221, 229, 230 Central Provinces, 176 Chamberlain, Sir Austen, 171, 172, 178, 179, 180, 181, 186, 187, 188, 191, 192, 193, 194, 195, 196, 197, 198, 199, 201 Chamberlain, Joseph, 84 Chelmsford, Lord Frederic John Napier Thesinger, 21, 184, 187, 192, 193, 196, 217 Chesney, Lieutenant-General Sir George Tomkyns, 6, 33, 45, 46, 47, 48, 49, 52, 57, 58, 59, 60, 61, 62, 63, 64, 65, 72, 84, 85, 88, 91, 117, 128, 150, 166, 228, 229, 230, 231, 232, 235 China, 27, 44 Chirol, Valentine, 137 Churchill, Lord Randolph, 61 Churchill, Sir Winston, 222 Collen, General Sir Edwin H.H., 87 Commander-in-Chief or C-in-C (various), 15, 26, 34, 35, 46, 48, 51, 52, 54, 55, 57, 61, 62, 63, 64, 86, 87, 90, 112, 115, 116, 118, 125, 127, 132, 133, 134, 147, 150, 168, 173, 176, 181, 189, 192, 194, 196, 211, 214, 218, 219, 220, 222, 223, 228, 231, 232 Committee of Imperial Defence or CID, 135, 217, 218 Compagnie des Indes or CdI, 13, 14, 15 Cooch Behar, 65

Cooch Behar, Sir Nripendra Narayan, Maharaja of, 6, 65, 66, 67, 68, 69, 72, 83, 89, 99, 116, 123, 124, 125, 126, 194, 232 Cooch Behar, Suniti Devi, Maharani of, 99 Cooch Behar, Rajkumar Jitendra Narayan, 99 Cooch Behar, Rajkumar Raj Rajendra Narayan, 115, 116 Cooper’s Hill Engineering College, 45 Council of India or India Council, 26, 51, 67, 90, 130, 170 Cox, Lieutenant-General Sir Herbert V., 191, 194, 197, 198, 199 Craddock, Sir Reginald, 166, 176, 228, 230 Crawford, Colonel J.D., 212 Creagh, General Sir Garret O’Moore, 127, 132, 133, 134, 144, 145, 148, 166, 168 Crewe, Robert Crewe-Milnes, 1st Marquess of (also Lord), 132, 134, 138, 142, 143, 144, 145, 148, 166, 167, 170, 171, 173 Cross, Lord Richard Assheton, 56, 57, 85 Crosthwaite, Sir Charles H.T., 90, 93, 125, 132, 232 Cunningham, Sir W.J., 88 Curzon, Lord George Nathaniel, 47, 72, 83, 84, 85, 87, 88, 89, 90, 91, 93, 98, 99, 100, 102, 110, 111, 112, 114, 115, 116, 125, 131, 133, 145, 151, 176, 200, 230, 232, 235 Curzon-Wyllie, Colonel William, 88 Daphlé, Imperial Cadet (later Lieutenant, later Captain) Bala Saheb, 148, 150, 151, 178, 194, 201, 212, 216 Daly College, Indore, 48, 211 Dane, Sir Louis, 98, 112, 114, 119, 120, 151 Dera Ghazi Khan, 51 Dehra Dun, 92, 100, 101, 117, 120, 131, 172, 190, 212, 220, 221, 234 Derby, Edward Stanley, 17th Earl of (also Lord), 200, 201 Dominion Army scheme, 217, 218, 225n31, 237 Drummond, Brigadier-General F.H.R, 126, 127

Index Duff, Lieutenant-General Sir Beauchamp, 112, 127, 128, 129, 138, 141, 143, 173, 174, 177, 180, 181, 189, 233 Dufferin, Frederick Hamilton-TempleBlackwood, 1st Marquess (also Lord), 41, 42, 53, 56, 57, 60 Dunlop Smith, Lieutenant-Colonel Sir James, 121, 129, 138, 141, 143, 145, 234 East Africa, 164, 166 East India Company/EIC, 11, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 19, 20, 21, 23, 24, 26, 33, 34, 37, 39, 42, 118, 223, 228 East India Company’s Military Seminary, also Addiscombe, 17, 18, 19, 34, 45, 54 Eden, Sir Ashley, 50, 52, 53, 223, 229 Egerton, General Sir Charles, 130, 131, 138, 141, 142, 179, 180 Elgin, Victor Alexander Bruce, 9th Earl of (also Lord), 66, 68 eight-unit scheme, 214, 215, 217, 218, 219 Eton College, 65, 66, 115, 116 Europe or European, x, 5, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 19, 22, 24, 37, 40, 43, 48, 63, 64, 65, 66, 68, 69, 87, 93, 112, 136, 163, 164, 165, 168, 180, 182, 185, 197, 212, 219, 228, 236 Foreign Department (of the Government of India), 59, 85, 88, 93, 96, 97, 100, 101, 110, 111, 118, 120, 123, 125, 145, 152, 168, 230 France or French, 13, 15, 164, 165, 166, 181, 182, 185, 196 Gabriel, Vivian, 118, 120, 125 Gadi, 65, 66, 94, 102, 116, 123 Gandhi, Mohandas Karamchand, 21, 200, 213, 214 George V, 93, 145, 164 Germany, x, 67, 135, 149, 164 Gokhale, Gopal Krishna, ix, 118, 135, 138, 183 Gordon, Major General Charles “Chinese”, 35 Gordon, General Sir John, 90 Gordon, Stewart, 14

257

Government of India or Indian Government (also Calcutta or New Delhi), 6, 17, 26, 38, 39, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46, 48, 49, 50, 52, 53, 56, 58, 59, 63, 64, 67, 68, 69, 71, 72, 85, 87, 88, 89, 90, 94, 101, 109, 117, 118, 119, 120, 123, 124, 127, 128, 131, 134, 135, 138, 140, 141, 143, 144, 145, 146, 148, 163, 166, 167, 168, 170, 171, 179, 180, 181, 182, 184, 185, 186, 187, 188, 189, 190, 191, 192, 193, 194, 196, 197, 198, 199, 200, 201, 202, 213, 214, 216, 217, 219, 220, 222, 227, 229, 230 Haines, General Sir Frederick, 50, 52 Hamilton, Lord George, 65, 66, 67, 68, 69, 70, 71, 72, 83, 84, 89, 90, 114, 138, 232 Harcourt Butler, Sir S., 101 Hardinge of Penhurst, Lord Charles (also 2nd Baron), 132, 133, 134, 143, 144, 145, 148, 150, 164, 166, 172, 173, 174, 175, 176, 177, 178, 180, 181, 184, 186, 198 Hill, Sir Claude H., 120, 180 His or Her Majesty’s Government, also Home Government or British Government, 48, 69, 71, 90, 163, 182, 197, 199, 201, 229 His Majesty’s Native Indian Land Forces, also HMNILF, 85, 86, 92, 110, 111, 115, 116, 117, 119, 122, 123, 124, 125, 126, 131, 132, 138, 139, 145, 148, 149, 150, 151, 166, 168, 178, 179, 180, 181, 186, 187, 189, 193, 194, 195, 196, 198, 199, 201, 202, 212, 232 Hobhouse, Sir John Cam, 34 Holderness, Sir Thomas, 149, 170, 171, 179, 180, 197, 198 Home Rule Leagues, 183 Hoti Mardan, 115, 121, 151 Hyderabad, 13, 88, 94, 110, 121, 214 Imam, Sir Syed Ali, 166, 178 Imperial Cadet Corps or ICC, 3, 6, 84, 85, 87, 88, 89, 90, 91, 92, 93, 94, 95, 96, 97, 98, 99, 100, 101, 102, 109, 110, 111, 112, 114, 115, 116, 117, 118, 120, 121, 122, 123, 124, 125, 126, 127, 128, 129, 130, 131, 132, 133, 134, 135, 138,

258

Index

139, 144, 145, 146, 149, 150, 151, 166, 168, 171, 172, 174, 176, 180, 194, 201, 211, 217, 230, 232, 234 Imperial Mounted Infantry, or IMI scheme, 117, 118, 119, 230 Imperial Service Troops or ISTs, 44, 87, 95, 96, 100, 114, 116, 126, 139, 145, 220 India Office, or London, 26, 27, 39, 40, 41, 48, 50, 56, 59, 60, 66, 67, 68, 69, 70, 87, 89, 90, 124, 127, 129, 132, 134, 135, 137, 138, 139, 140, 141, 142, 143, 145, 148, 163, 164, 166, 167, 168, 170, 171, 172, 173, 178, 179, 180, 184, 186, 187, 188, 191, 192, 193, 196, 197, 198, 199, 201, 213, 214, 217, 223, 228, 230, 231, 232 Indian Army Divisions in World War I, 165 Indian Army Units: 2/1st Madras Pioneers, 214; 2/1st Punjab Regiment, 214; 5th Camel Corps, 152; 5th Royal Battalion/ 5th Mahratta L. I., 214; 7th Light Cavalry, 214; 1/7th Rajput Regiment, 214; 13th Rajputs, 152; 1/14th Punjab Regiment, 214; 16th Light Cavalry, 214; 16th Rajputs, 152; 4/19th Hyderabad Regiment, 214; 39th Garhwal Rifles, 219; 106th Pioneers, 151, 152; Bhavnagar Imperial Service Lancers, 116, 152; Brayser’s Sikhs, 24; Deoli/Erinpura Irregular Forces, 127, 132, 168; Kohat and Khurram Field Force, 65; Malwa Bhil Corps, 119, 152; Mhow Division, 152; Poona Division, 152, 165; Tehri State Imperial Service Sappers & Miners, 152, 165 Indian Civil Service, also ICS, 1, 11, 40, 45, 58, 64, 175, 177 Indian Expeditionary Forces A to G in World War I, 194 Indian Military Academy, 220 Indian Military College, or Chetwode, Committee, 219, 220 Indian National Army, 221, 223 Indian National Congress, 24, 43, 56, 57, 135, 138, 142, 146, 182, 229, 231 Indian Public Works Department or IPWD, 45

Indian Sandhurst, 60, 63, 65, 111, 166, 172, 175, 216, 217, 219 Indian Sandhurst or Skeen, Committee, 216, 217, 219 Indian Staff College, Quetta, 63, 97, 165, 170 Indian Statutory Commission, 235 Indian Uprising of 1857 (also mutiny), x, 5, 19, 20, 21, 24, 35, 36, 39, 42, 45, 51, 54, 60, 63, 94, 99, 166, 180, 223, 228 Indu Prakash, 42 Islington, Lord John Poynder-Dixon, 172, 190, 199, 200 Iyer, C.S. Ranga, 213, 229 Iyer, Gopalasastrial Rama, 45 Jang, Imperial Cadet (later 2nd Lieutenant) Rana Jodha, 96, 152, 178, 181, 194, 201, 212 Jilani, Sheik Ghulam, 101 Jinnah, Mohammed Ali, 183, 200, 212, 216, 219, 229 Jodhpur, 45, 101 Kabul, 54, 151 Kandahar, 54, 62 Kashmir, 102 Kathiawar, 48, 88, 98, 110 Khan, Imperial Cadet (later Lieutenant) Aga Murtaza, 151, 181 Khan, Imperial Cadet Nawabzada Ahmed (of Sachin), 101, 122, 166 Khan, Imperial Cadet Sahibzada Amanat Ullah, 100, 115, 116 Khan, Obeidulla, 99 Khan, Ressaidar-Major Muhammad Aslam, 57 Khan, Imperial Cadet (later Lieutenant) Khan Mohammed Akbar, 116, 151, 181, 194, 212 Khan, Imperial Cadet (later Lieutenant) Malik Mumtaz Mohammed, 112, 181, 194, 201, 212 Khan, Imperial Cadet Nawabzada Mohammed Kuli (of Cambay), 100 Khan, Imperial Cadet Wali-ud-Din, 115, 116 Kimberley, John Wodehouse, 1st Earl, 50, 51, 52, 53

Index Kitchener, General Sir H.H. (later Lord), 27, 112, 113, 114, 116, 118, 125, 126, 130, 189, 230, 232 Kotah, 130 Kut, 164 Lahore, 112, 135 Lansdowne, Henry Petty-Fitzmaurice, 5th Marquess of (also Lord), 69, 71 Law, E.F.G., 87 Lawrence, Sir Henry M., 15, 35, 60, 110, 135, 228 Lawrence, Major Stringer, 15 Lawrence, Sir Walter, 84, 110, 232 Local Imperial Troop (LIT) contingents, 111, 112, 235 Long, Walter, 200 Low, Sidney, 93 Lucknow, 24, 35, 36, 165 Lucknow Pact, 183 Lumsden, General Sir Peter S., 52, 55 Lyall, Sir Alfred, 5, 67, 69, 70, 72, 230 Lytton, Edward Robert Bulwer, 1st Earl (also Lord), 6, 39, 40, 54, 234 Macaulay, Thomas B., 4, 37 MacMunn, Lieutenant-General Sir George F., 22, 25 Madras Army, 34 Madras Command, 27 Madras Presidency, 22, 25, 165, 174 Magdala, Field Marshal Robert Cornelis, 1st Baron of (also Lord), 50, 51, 52 Maharaja of Bikaner, 124, 129 Maharaja of Jodhpur, 101, 124, 166 Maharaja of Kishengarh, 92 Mahratta, 121, 129, 146 The Mahratta (newspaper), 222 Maitland, Major-General P.J., 114 Malcolm, Sir John, 34 Manipur, 102 Manipur, Raja of, 98 Manwadar, 102 Mason, Phillip, 24 Mayo College, Ajmere, 47, 120, 121, 122 Maxwell, Lieutenant-Colonel F.A., 144, 145, 148 Meade, Lieutenant-General Sir Robert, 53 Meerut, 92, 100, 213

259

Mesopotamia/Mesopotamian Campaign, 164, 165, 166, 185, 196, 197 Metcalf, Thomas R., 4 Mhow, 119, 220 Military Department (of Indian Government or India Office), 26, 96, 114, 118, 120, 127, 232 Military Police, 96, 116, 119, 176 Minto, G.J.E. Murray-Kynynmound, 4th Earl of (also Lord), 99 Monro, General Sir Charles C., 189, 190, 194 Montagu, Sir Edwin S., 1, 2, 6, 21, 163, 198, 199, 200, 201, 202, 211, 227, 235 Morison, Sir Theodore, 168, 170 Morley, John, 1st Viscount Morley of Blackburn (also Lord), 93, 119, 124, 126, 128, 131, 132, 138, 235 Morton-Jack, George, 164 Munro, Sir Thomas, 33 Naoroji, Dadabhhai, 69, 138 Native Gentlemen, 34, 35, 46, 48, 62, 70, 71, 113, 114, 130, 133, 134 Native Press, 40, 58, 61, 174 Navavibhakar, 43 Nehru, Motilal, 218 Nicholson, General Sir William, 135, 163 Nizam of Hyderabad, 13 O’Dwyer, Sir Michael, 177 Oldenburg, Veena, 98 Omissi, David, 11, 214 Orientalism (original 18th–19th century meaning), 4 Oudh or Awadh, 13, 19, 20, 21, 36 Oudh Talukdars, 98, 174 Pathan, 21, 25, 63, 115, 116, 129 Penjdeh Incident, 41, 44, 64 Persia or Persian, 27, 34, 37, 151 Peshawar, 53 Peyton, Brigadier W.E., 148 Pishin, 51 Ponting, Clive, 11 Poona, 101, 116, 118 Power Palmer, General Sir Arthur, 86, 87, 90, 232

260

Index

Prince of Wales Royal Indian Military College/POWRIMC, 212 Princes of Wales (various), 65, 93, 97 Punjab, 20, 22, 25, 27, 35, 47, 94, 136, 146, 214 Punjab Command, 27 Punjab Government, 63, 64, 211 Punjabization, 21, 22 Punjabi Muslims, 25, 117, 126, 222 Queen Victoria, 6, 39, 44, 65, 168 Queen Victoria’s Diamond Jubilee, 65 Queen Victoria’s Royal Proclamation, 44, 168 Quetta, 27, 97 racial prejudice (also racism), 43, 59, 127, 128, 141, 172, 174, 192, 233 Raja, Senathi, 135 Raj, Imperial Cadet (later /2nd Lieutenant) Daji., 96, 166 Rajkot, 102 Rajkumar College, Rajkot, 47 Rajputana, 22, 23, 88, 110, 111, 119, 120, 123, 234 Rajputs, 23, 25, 44, 88, 98, 111, 117, 126, 180 Raleigh, T.R., 87 Ranjitsinhji, K.S., later Jam Saheb of Nawanagar, 66, 110 Rast Goftar, 42 Rawlinson, Field Marshal Sir Seymour H., 214, 223, 230, 231 Reid, General Sir Charles, 51, 228 Renouf, Winter C., 213, 231 Ricketts, Major R.L., 96, 150, 152 Roberts, Charles, 1, 167, 168, 170 Roberts, General (later Field Marshal Lord , of Kandahar) Sir Frederick Sleigh, 33, 54, 55, 56, 60, 61, 62, 63, 64, 65, 71, 90, 92, 135, 223, 228, 230, 231, 232 Robertson, Sir Benjamin, 176 Robertson, Lieutenant Colonel D., 88, 93 Roorkee school, 60, 80n133 Royal Military Academy, Woolwich, 17, 19, 62, 163, 201, 217, 219, 220, 234 Royal Military College, Sandhurst, 17, 19, 34, 50, 60, 62, 63, 65, 66, 67, 69, 85,

87, 96, 111, 121, 130, 131, 133, 139, 142, 143, 144, 147, 163, 165, 166, 168, 171, 172, 173, 174, 177, 189, 190, 191, 192, 193, 197, 200, 201, 212, 213, 215, 216, 217, 218, 219, 220, 221, 234, 235 Sachin, 102 Sachin, Nawab of, 101, 102, 166 Sachin, Nawabzada Ahmed Khan of, 122 Sadharani, 56 Salisbury, Robert Gascoyne-Cecil, 3rd Marquess of (also Lord), 27, 57, 68, 84, 90 Sarma, G., 146, 148 Secretaries-of-State-for-India or India Secretaries (various), 1, 6, 21, 26, 40, 50, 51, 57, 61, 65, 67, 93, 124, 128, 129, 138, 139, 143, 145, 171, 178, 179, 180, 186, 187, 188, 191, 192, 193, 194, 195, 198, 200, 222, 231, 232, 235 Sepoy, 15, 16, 17, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 34, 35, 36, 51, 52, 53, 54, 55, 58, 60, 61, 86, 94, 165, 166, 228, 231, 234 Shah, Imperial Cadet (also Lieutenant and Captain) Aga Casim, 115, 148, 181, 201, 212 Shea Committee, 214, 230, 235 Shelley, Captain Archibald D.G., 45 Singh, Imperial Cadet/Lieutenant/Captain Amar, 97, 109, 110, 115, 116, 122, 148, 150, 151, 153, 178, 194, 201, 212 Singh, Bhai Man, 213 Singh, Dokul, 36 Singh, Sardar Gulab, 213 Singh, Sirdar Gurmukh, 136 Singh, Hari, 102 Singh, Imperial Cadet, also Lieutenant, Pirthi, 153, 194, 201, 212 Singh, Raja Buktawar, 36 Singh, Sardar, 122 Singh, Maharaja Sir Pertab Singh of Idar, 91, 97, 120 Singh, Zorawar, lmperial Cadet, later Lieutenant and Captain, 115, 116, 150, 153, 166, 194, 201, 212, 216 Sinha, Sir Satyendra Prasanno, 129, 184 Sinhji, Savai, Imperial Cadet, also 2nd Lieutenant, 96, 153, 166, 194, 201

Index Sikhs, 13, 24, 25, 63, 64, 122, 130, 166, 180 Smith-Dorrien, General Sir Horace, 145, 147 South Africa, 45, 135 Sowar, 15, 18, 21, 26, 51, 140 Staff College, Camberley, 91, 97, 172, 173 Statutory Civil Service., 39 Stephen, Sir James Fitzjames, 5, 38, 84 Stevenson, Robert Louis, 92 Stewart, General Sir Donald Martin, 46, 48, 50, 51, 52, 53, 54, 56, 67, 70, 71, 228 Surabhi, 42, 56 Swadesamitran, 42, 43, 44, 56 Taylor, Captain R. O’B., 101, 120, 122, 124, 125, 131 Temporary Officer Training School, Wellington, 165, 171, 172, 174, 175, 193 Tilak, Bal Gangadhar, 183 Tirah, 51, 66

261

Vellore mutiny, 19 Vernacular Press Act, 41 Viceroy’s Bodyguard, 127, 130, 132 Viceroy’s Council, 37, 38, 48, 57, 60, 61, 64, 89, 129, 166, 178 Viceroy (origin of designation), 26 Victoria Cross, 54, 166, 184 A Vision of India, 93 Waddington, C.W., 120, 121 War Cabinet, 187, 200, 201 War Office, 26, 66, 67, 69, 70, 71, 84, 135, 141, 142, 143, 144, 145, 147, 165, 167, 168, 170, 171, 179, 180, 186, 188, 191, 193, 194, 195, 196, 197, 198, 199, 201, 202, 213, 223, 234 Watson, Major W.A., 83, 92, 95, 97, 99, 100, 110, 111, 112, 114, 115, 116, 117, 120, 122, 123, 150, 151, 230, 234 Yeatman-Biggs, Major-General A.G., 65

About the Author

Dr. Chandar S. Sundaram is a historian of the colonial Indian Army, who has taught in Canada, the US, Hong Kong, and China, and held studentships and fellowships in the UK and India. He has published A Military History of India and South Asia, from the East India Company to the Nuclear Era (2007, co-edited with Daniel Marston), and For the Honour of India: A History of Indian Peacekeeping, (2009, coauthored with Satish Nambiar and Rana Chhina). He is currently researching and writing a military history of the Indian National Army. One of his earlier articles on this topic was reprinted in a seven-volume collection of the best articles on the Second World War, edited by Jeremy Black. Dr. Sundaram currently resides in Victoria, Canada.

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