British presence in Oudh was of over a century’s standing, and that the influence of the Company had over the years, and due to the increasing decadence of the Nawabs, extended into the administration and government of the kingdom, as indeed had happened in several other territories. But such was still my ignorance, it had not occurred to me that the annexation might cause trouble.
‘The natives are then averse to the measure?’ I asked.
‘Naturally!’ Mr Roberts said drily. ‘For many reasons, but perhaps for none that are immediately apparent to the Westerner’s outlook. Shortly before we sailed, Miss Hewitt, I received a communication via the overland route, informing me of conditions in the newly annexed state. Within a month of the Nawab’s leaving Lucknow, my correspondent was able to discern a marked and expressed dissatisfaction among that section of the population upon which we British most depend—the Army. Perhaps you do not know that for many years past more than two-thirds of the Company’s native soldiery—sepoys we call them—a corruption of the Persian word Sipahi —have been recruited from the State of Oudh. The men of Oudh have flocked to the Company’s banner in such numbers that it is scarcely too much to say that mercenary militarism is the main industry of the kingdom, as it is certainly the most profitable. Hardly a family in Oudh but does not receive a few rupees a month from one of its members serving in the Army, and when these men retire they take their pensions back to their villages.’
Mr Roberts rose to his feet and stood with his back to the rail and his hands on his lapels, a stance that could not fail to command attention.
‘One of the chief incentives for this enthusiasm to serve the Company—the Government, that is—was that since the middle of the last century there has been a British Resident at the court of Lucknow, the deposed Nawab’s court, you understand. This functionary, in addition to his duties of watching the interests of the Company’s trading affairs in the kingdom, was in charge of all matters pertaining to those citizens of Oudh who had enlisted in the Company’s Army—and of their families at home. These men were thus peculiarly privileged, particularly in matters involving the native law. You will not see the force of this until you understand that a love of litigation is inherent in the Indian character, amounting almost to a passion. At the same time the native courts of law are notoriously corrupt. When you put together these two facts, you will begin to see the advantages of serving with the Company and thus assuring oneself of the offices of the British Resident as advocate and arbiter.’
‘Yes, I think I begin to understand. But then what has gone wrong? Is the kingdom not in a happier condition now that all alike enjoy a juster government?’
‘It is not as simple as that. As you realize, the people are now subject to a system of laws which is more just, but it is the fact that the law is uniform and common to all that is causing the dissatisfaction among the sepoys. Two-thirds of our native Army, so my correspondent informed me, are now disgruntled. Corruption, after all, cannot be done away with by the stroke of a pen. When these men were far from their homes for long periods, they could be sure that their land, their interests—for instance their rights of inheritance, should a father die—would be protected by the very special and necessary privileges of their position in the Company’s Army. Now the Company is in control, and theoretically such privileges and safeguards should no longer be necessary, but human nature being what it is, and the mills of statecraft grinding almost as slowly as those of God, the sepoys are in a worse case than ever before, and no longer have the hope of redress through a greater power.’
‘You think then that the trouble you anticipate will come from the Army?’
‘I do not know what to think.