In the mid-19th century, British officers in northern India began to notice signs of disaffection, even intimations of rebellion, among the sepoys of the East India Company’s Bengal Army. They generally failed to realize the full significance of the unrest, however. Greater leniency by the British, such as abandoning flogging as punishment and decreasing the authority given regimental officers, seemed to have eroded the discipline of the sepoys. They had become dependent on strong leadership. More fundamentally, British reforms such as the ban on sutee, the self-immolation of widows, did not sit well with the Hindu sepoys, who felt that their customs and religion were being threatened. When the British introduced a new Enfield rifle and a new greased-paper cartridge into the Indian Army, the distress within the ranks of the sepoys became acute.

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In February 1857, the 19th Native Infantry at Bahrampore in Bengal refused to accept the newly issued cartridges because, rumor had it, they were greased with either pig or cow fat. Eating pig flesh was an abomination to Muslims, and the Hindu religion regarded the cow as sacred and therefore banned the consumption of its flesh. The British, realizing the problem, abandoned the use of meat fat for greasing, but the Hindu and Muslim soldiers still believed that their Christian commanders were trying to subject them to forbidden substances as a means of subverting their religion.

About that time, the British began to notice that Indian runners were crisscrossing much of northern India. When an Indian runner entered a neighboring village, he would pass on to someone — anyone — a chapatti, the flat, pancakelike unleavened bread used throughout India. The recipient of the chapatti would then rush it to the next village and give it to someone there, and so on in a perpetual relay. Only in retrospect did the British understand that this was a way of alerting the populace that something momentous was about to occur.

More worrisome to the British was an isolated act of mutiny that erupted on March 19, 1857, on the parade ground of Barrackpore, near Calcutta. There, a zealot of the 34th Bengal Regiment named Mangal Pande suddenly broke ranks, shouting to his regimental mates: ‘Rise, all of you! The English are upon us; by biting the defiled cartridges, we shall all lose our religion!’ In an effort to restore calm, the regimental adjutant galloped into the melee, only to be cut down by the mutineer. The commanding general then dashed onto the parade ground and faced Pande, who pointed his gun at the general. Some stories relate that the general shouted defiantly, ‘Damn his musket!’ and, with his pistol aimed at Pande’s head, ordered the 34th to advance and seize the mutineer. Pande put his toe into the trigger of his musket and fired upward at his own breast. He survived his suicide attempt, only to be hanged by the British on April 8. The 34th was promptly disbanded as a result of this incident, but the legend of Mangal Pande lived on, gaining fervor with each retelling. His name would also live on in the nickname the British gave to the Indian mutineers — ‘pandies.’

By 1857, the Mogul dynasty had withered to the point of near extinction. The last of the Moguls, Bahadur Shah II, ‘King of Delhi,’ was a frail, opium-addicted old man deprived of any real power. A pensioner of the British, he was king in name only, and it was understood that upon his death his title would no longer exist.

Bahadur Shah’s keepers were British Commissioner Simon Fraser and a Captain Douglas, the commandant of the Palace Guards. Perched on the ridge overlooking Delhi were the British cantonments quartering the 38th, 54th and 74th Native Infantry and one battery of native artillery. By treaty agreement there were no British regiments there. This modest force was commanded by Brig. Gen. Harry Graves.

The royal palace housed some 12,000 retainers of one sort or another, who lived a generally unproductive existence. Nevertheless, they spawned countless schemes in the labyrinthine palace corridors to profit from their attachment to the throne. In the early hours of May 11, the king was jarred from his rest when news flashed through the court that the 3rd Native Cavalry from the nearby Meerut cantonment had dashed to Delhi and entered the city by the bridge over the Jumna River. Indeed, Bahadur could hear a cacophony rising from the grounds below his quarters, where the troopers had gathered, demanding an audience. The old king asked Captain Douglas to investigate the disturbance.

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