No one in our time has played the part of Cassandra with more foresight and vehemence than the late Sir Charles Napier.  He saw the quarter in which the storm was gathering, and he affirmed that it was at hand.  In 1850, after a short period of service as commander-in-chief of the forces in India, he resigned his place, owing to a difference between himself and the government, and immediately afterwards prepared a memoir in justification of his course, accompanied with remarks upon the general administration of affairs in that country.  It was written with all his accustomed clearness of mind, vigor of expression, and intensity of personal feeling,—­but it was not published until after his death, which took place in 1853, when it appeared under the editorship of his brother, Lieutenant-General Sir W.F.P.  Napier, with the title of “Defects, Civil and Military, of the Indian Government.”  Its interest is greatly enhanced when read by the light of recent events.  It is in great part occupied with a narrative of the exhibition of a mutinous spirit which appeared in 1849 in some thirty Sepoy battalions, in regard to a reduction of their pay, and of the means taken to check and subdue it.  On the third page is a sentence which read now is of terrible import:  “Mutiny with [among?] the Sepoys is the most formidable danger menacing our Indian empire.”  And a few pages farther on occurs the following striking passage:  “The ablest and most experienced civil and military servants of the East India Company consider mutiny as one of the greatest, if not the greatest danger threatening India,—­a danger also that may come unexpectedly, and, if the first symptoms be not carefully treated, with a power to shake Leadenhall.”

The anticipated mutiny has now come, its first symptoms were treated with utter want of judgment, and its power is shaking the whole fabric of the English rule in India.

One day toward the end of January last, a workman employed in the magazine at Barrackpore, an important station about seventeen miles from Calcutta, stopped to ask a Sepoy for some water from his drinking-vessel.  Being refused, because he was of low caste, and his touch would defile the vessel, he said, with a sneer, “What caste are you of, who bite pig’s grease and cow’s fat on your cartridges?” Practice with the new Enfield rifle had just been introduced, and the cartridges were greased for use in order not to foul the gun.  The rumor spread among the Sepoys that there was a trick played upon them,—­that this was but a device to pollute them and destroy their caste, and the first step toward a general and forcible conversion of the soldiers to Christianity.  The groundlessness of the idea upon which this alarm was founded afforded no hindrance to its ready reception, nor was the absurdity of the design attributed to the ruling powers apparent to the obscured and timid intellect of the Sepoys.  The consequences of loss of caste are so feared,—­and are in reality of so