The state of Manipur lies up among the hills between India and Burma. It is semi-independent, like many of its neighbours, the Maharajah being subjected to the control of a British Resident. In 1890 a family quarrel in the Maharajah’s own household led to his deposition, his brother the Senaputty (commander-in-chief of the army) placing another brother on the throne as Regent.
This turn of affairs was tacitly acquiesced in by the Indian Government, who recognised that the change was for the better, but on the late Maharajah, Soor Chandra Singh, complaining to the authorities of the bad treatment he had received (and deserved, by the way), some notice of it had to be taken. So Mr. Quinton, Chief Commissioner of Assam, was despatched to Manipur with instructions to arrest the head and front of the offending, the Senaputty.
This gentleman, however, firmly declined to comply with the request that he should surrender himself. An attempt was then made to seize him in the palace, but without success, and diplomacy was again resorted to. A meeting was arranged for the discussion of the matter, and one evening Quinton, Grimwood, and several of the British officers had an interview with the Regent and the Senaputty. Not one of them was ever seen again alive. On their refusal to accept the terms proposed by the Manipuri chiefs they were all massacred.
Mrs. St. Clair Grimwood, who was one of those who escaped from the besieged Residency immediately after the tragedy, has given us a graphic account of her experiences. She was ignorant of the real facts when forced to flee by her companions, the first news being that her husband had been taken prisoner with the others. Only at the end of her journey did she learn the awful truth.
Down in the cellar of the house Mrs. Grimwood, like the brave lady she was, carefully tended the wounded amid the crackle of musketry and the crash of bursting shells. She was hit in the arm, though fortunately not seriously, and only desisted from her task when it became evident that they must all leave the place. The rebels had set the Residency on fire.
With the wounded and an escort of sepoys, Mrs. Grimwood and the officers who had survived made a dash for the road, reaching it in safety. “I had not even a hat,” she remarks, “and only very thin house-shoes on. One of these dropped off in the river, where I got wet up to the shoulders. We were fired at all the way. I lay down in a ditch about twenty times that night while they were firing, to try and escape bullets.”