Acknowledgements

My debt to many writers, alive and dead, will become apparent to any reader of this book, but I am especially grateful to the late Sir John Fortescue, author of an encyclopaedic thirteen-volume History of the British Army that finds space to do justice to the rebel opponents that the army faced; to Noel Mostert, author of Frontiers, a path-breaking study of the Xhosa of South Africa and their epic, half-century struggle to hold back the tides of white settlement; and to the late Sir Penderel Moon, whose immense volume on The British Conquest and Dominion of India is a magnificent distillation of the British imperial experience as well as a sympathetic account of the Indian predicament, typical of a former member of the Indian Civil Service. In his well-remembered role as my Uncle Pendie, I owe Sir Penderel additional thanks for a timely legacy, shared among his six nephews, that has enabled me (briefly) to work, in that felicitous phrase devised by Hugh Thomas, as ‘a historian in private practice’. My boyhood self would also acknowledge a special debt to John Fortescue for his Story of a Red Deer, a moving account originally published in 1897 of those free spirits on Exmoor that were hunted down much as the indigenous peoples of Empire.

This book has been researched and written over many years, and several of those who helped and encouraged me are no longer with us. I remember with particular pleasure the enthusiasm with which Raphael Samuel greeted this project in its early days; my old friend John Rettie required endless updates on progress and plied me with books on Native American resistance; John Roberts introduced me to several obscure imperial episodes, both in India and Australia; while Tom Lubbock supplied me with cartoons and enjoyed discussions on the imagery of Empire. These friends are gone, and it is sad that they are no longer around to see the completed volume.

Fortunately, many others who have accompanied me on this long journey are still alive, to be thanked in person. Josh Gilbert read an early version of the manuscript and, urging me to curb my interest in military detail, made excellent and detailed suggestions for improvement; Michael Simmons read a later version and has saved me from many errors; Mary Turner, in at the beginning, argued wisely in favour of starting the book half a century earlier than I had originally planned; while Deborah Rogers was most helpful in the reconstruction of the book’s basic framework, obliging me most sensibly to abandon the straitjacket of strict chronology that I had forced myself to adopt.

Verso continues to be a friendly and agreeable publisher and I owe especial thanks to Tariq Ali, who dreamt up the image of Tipu’s tiger for the jacket, and to Robin Blackburn, benign expert on slavery. Tom Penn in London and Mark Martin in New York have been wonderful editors, cajoling and threatening in turn, while Charles Peyton has been a fine copy editor. Andrea d’Cruz has done sterling work securing permissions for the illustrations. My thanks to them all.

Vivien Ashley, my wife, has accompanied me on many trips to Latin America, and now she has willingly joined me on virtual expeditions to other continents in earlier centuries. Her father and my grandfather were in the Indian Army long ago, and it has been a strange experience for both of us to re-imagine in the twenty-first century the family haunts of yesteryear. She has come along for the ride with her customary enthusiasm and gaiety, enjoying the good moments and keeping me going when the going has been rough.

Richard Gott London, 2011