Wisdom dictated the disarming then and there of the two sipáhí regiments, but, alike at Calcutta and at Agra, 'wisdom was crying in the streets.' In both places this policy was urged upon the Government by those who did not wield authority. In both places the Government, to the detriment of the country, and to the sacrifice of many valuable lives, preferred to act the farce of feigning a confidence which they did not feel. Noting the demeanour of the sipáhís on that 14th of May, the Chief Engineer of the Agra Division, Colonel Hugh Fraser, advised Mr Colvin to recognise the emergency, to distrust the native soldiery, and to move into the fort. But Mr Colvin had not at all realised the nature of the crisis. He believed he would be able to maintain order, and he reported to this effect to the Government in Calcutta.
Far more astute was the native prince whose capital lay but sixty-six miles from Agra, I have said that the city of Agra almost touched the plains of the territory known as the dominions of Sindhiá. The actual representative of that family, Máhárájá Jaiájí Ráo, possessed a vigorous intellect, and a thorough knowledge of his countrymen. He had read much, conversed much, and thought much, and the conclusion at which he had arrived had satisfied him with the position which, as a protected prince, supreme in his own territories, he held under the overlordship of the British. Between him and them no discordant clash had arisen. During his career he never ceased to remember that it was to the statesmanlike moderation of a Governor-General of India, Lord Ellenborough, that he was indebted for the complete inheritance of his immediate predecessor. During the visit to Calcutta, of which I have written in a previous chapter, this sagacious prince had noticed, with an accuracy never at fault, the signs of the times. He had observed the strong undercurrent of native
