CHAPTER XVI.

OUR FINAL JOURNEY.

Indian Hospitality--Reminiscences of Hindostan--My

Bearer--A Spinster in a Dilemma--Deollalee--Our Final

Journey--Bombay--Voyage in the _Jumna_--Escape of a

Minar--Loss of a Parrot--Return to England--Escapade of a

Young Officer--Anecdote 313

CHAPTER I.

THE CONNAUGHT RANGERS.

MY FIRST EXPERIENCES IN THE REGIMENT--TOBY WHITE--THE CASTLE

GUARD--CHANGES IN IRELAND--DONNYBROOK FAIR--HALF-A-CROWN’S WORTH

OF FIGHTING--ORDERED TO MALTA--AFFAIRS IN SYRIA--IRISHMEN AND

SCOTCHMEN--TRANSPORTS--A CRUEL JOKE--AMUSEMENTS AT MALTA--CRUISE

TO CANDIA AND GREECE--AN OLD COLONEL’S OPINION OF ROME AND

ITS RUINS--DEPOT AT PAISLEY--FIRING A SALUTE AT DUMBARTON

CASTLE--MARCH FROM STIRLING TO ABERDEEN--ILLUSTRIOUS TOM AND THE

BLOTTING BOOKS--REMINISCENCES.

CHAPTER I.

In the year 1839 I entered the Army as ensign in the 88th Regiment

Connaught Rangers, which was then quartered in Dublin; and a merry

life it was. What with drill and parties, hunting and field-days, the

officers of the old regiment were always occupied. There were several

packs of hounds within easy distance of Richmond Barracks; but the Ward

Union was the one most patronised by my brothers-in-arms. The manœuvres

in the Phœnix Park were not much varied. I remember one day, when,

my captain being absent, I was in command of the company in which I

was ensign. The old colour-sergeant took the greatest care of me. We

advanced in line, and so sure was the non-commissioned officer of what

the manœuvre would be that he whispered to me: ‘When ye get to that

black thing on the ground, ye must give the words, “Form fours to the

right; right wheel;”’ which, I think, was the form in those days. The

black thing was a crow, which flew away before we got up to it. But, by

my friend the colour-sergeant’s help, I gave the proper word, and we

retired in time to let the cavalry through. Week after week passed, and

the same manœuvres were executed.

Old Toby White was town-major then, and his portrait, often repeated,

appeared on the walls of the Castle Guard. I always tried to be sub. on

the Castle Guard, for it was a pleasant lounge during the day, and in

the evening a good dinner was served free of expense, while at night a

supper of grilled bones, etc., was always ready for those who had been

at the theatre, and who looked in on their way home.

Everything is changed in Ireland now-a-days. The spirit of fun seems

to have vanished, and a sombre gloom appears to overshadow everything.

There was always a comical side to all the proceedings of our Irish

friends, even when the affair was serious, or assumed an air of

importance.

I remember going to Donnybrook fair--now a thing of the past--with

two brother officers, Bayley and Dawson. When we arrived all was

quite decorous. We observed many tents, in which the country people

were apparently enjoying themselves peaceably, but, unfortunately,

an urchin--a Dublin street Arab--came up to us, and said, ‘Give me

half-a-crown, captin, and I’ll show ye the finest sport ye ever

saw.’ So we tossed him the money, and off he went. He crept up near

a tent, where we saw him ‘feeling for a head,’ and, having found one

‘convanient’ belonging to some man inside, perhaps asleep, he took the

stick in his hand, and hit the head as hard as he could. The effect was

wonderful. All started up with such vehemence that the tent came down

at once, and everyone began to fight with his neighbour. The clatter of

sticks was incessant, and the uproar soon extended to the whole fair.

Then the peelers rushed in, and were swayed from one side to the other

by the contending parties. We left the scene of battle while the strife

was still raging,--many a cracked crown being the consequence of that

miserable half-crown.

After being quartered for some time in Dublin, we were ordered to

Cork, there to await embarkation to Malta. In the year 1840, affairs in

Syria looked very warlike, and we fully expected to be ordered on to

the seat of war, but the bombardment of St. Jean D’Acre by our Fleet,

under Sir R. Stopford, together with the other successful operations,

put off for some years a great war.

The 42nd Royal Highlanders were quartered at Cork when we were

there, and a great friendship existed between the two regiments. The

consumption of whiskey--to cement this friendly feeling--among the men

of the two corps was enormous. Sometimes a Highlander and a Connaught

Ranger might be seen climbing the steep hill on whose summit the

infantry barracks are situated; both having proved the genuineness

of their friendship by deep potations, and both in their way showing

various indications of their respective nationalities. Sandy appeared

quiet, grave, and canny, while Paddy was excited and noisy; waving a

stick in the air, and challenging everyone to ‘tread on the tail of his

coat.’

When they arrived at the barrack-gate, the Scotchman pulled himself

together, and, solemnly fixing his eyes on a distant point, marched

steadily past the sentry to his barrack-room, while the Irishman,

howling defiance to all about him, staggered right into the middle of

the guard and was lodged most probably in a cell for the night.

At length the transport _Conway_ was reported to be ready to

receive the head-quarters of the Connaught Rangers, and we went

on board. Very different from what they are now were the vessels

employed for the conveyance of troops; the comfort and luxury of

floating palaces like the _Crocodile_ and the _Jumna_ were

then unknown, and a ship that was considered almost unsafe to convey

merchandise was regarded as quite good enough to carry one of Her

Majesty’s regiments.

A curious scene the deck of our old East India-man presented when we

got on board. Confusion seemed the order of the day; geese, ducks, and

fowls filling the air with their peculiar cries. It was difficult to

get along the decks, so crowded were they with friends of the soldiers,

consisting of weeping women and disconsolate children.

Somehow or other every stranger was cleared out in the course of

time, and we put to sea. We had a very rough time of it in the Bay of

Biscay, for it blew a fierce gale from the S.W., and not only could

we make no way against the storm, but we were driven quite out of

our course. These discomforts were not much thought of by my young

brothers-in-arms, but must have been trying to the older officers on

board. One veteran attached to our regiment passed a fearful time. He

had never been to sea before, having served always in a cavalry corps,

and the extent of his voyages had been from England to Ireland and back

again; he was an old man now, and he and his wife had a very miserable

appearance. Whenever he came into the cabin he looked the picture of

woe, but I fear he got no sympathy from us youngsters. Once when the

storm was at its worst, and the waves broke clean over the ship, the

green water washing in at the cuddy door, ‘Oh!’ exclaimed the poor old

man, ‘why do we not go into a harbour? Can we not get a steamer to tow

us in?’ This proved an unfortunate remark to make in the presence of a

lot of careless young jokers.

‘A first-rate idea,’ said one of them. ‘Let us get up a subscription

for a steamer to pull us out of this tre-men-duous sea.’ No sooner said

than done. We got a sheet of paper and wrote the following heading:

‘It is proposed to get a steamer to tow us out of the Bay of Biscay.

Officers wishing to subscribe towards a fund to pay the expense of the

said steamer are requested to sign their names.’ We all wrote down the

amount we were willing to give, some putting down five pounds, others

two pounds; but the poor old man, who was considered by us to be rather

fond of his money, surprised us all by putting down his name for twenty

pounds. The paper was stuck up in the cabin, but the old captain of the

transport baffled our project, and let the cat out of the bag by asking

the ancient warrior, ‘How the dickens are ye to get at the steamer?’ I

do not think we were ever forgiven for our rather cruel joke.

On our arrival at Malta we were hospitably entertained by the regiments

quartered there. The season was a very gay one, as our magnificent

sailing fleet almost filled the many harbours, and dinners and balls,

regattas and races, became the order of the day. The race-course was

a very primitive affair, being a hard road called Pieta; but great

was the excitement of these sporting events when the ‘Wandering Boy,’

belonging to Captain Horsford of the Rifle Brigade, won the Ladies’

Whip, and Major Shirley’s (88th regiment) ‘Monops’ came in first for

some other favourite stakes.

I shall pass over the three years I belonged to the Malta garrison,

during which time I went a cruise to Candia and Greece. The late

Admiral of the Fleet, Sir Houston Stewart, was then captain of the

_Benbow_, in which I went as guest of the present Admiral Sir

John Hay, then a mate. A more delightful time no man ever had, for the

_Benbow_ was celebrated for its hospitality, and all the officers

were kindness itself. To recall these pleasant hours is the most

agreeable exercise of an old soldier’s memory, but the old ship is now

a hulk. Her captain rests in his honoured grave, and the jolly young

_Benbows_ of that merry time have become admirals and captains,

and are all scattered to the four winds. I had often intended visiting

Naples and Rome, but somehow the journey never came off, the remarks

made by an old colonel having probably had some effect in preventing

me from undertaking the journey. When he was asked if he enjoyed his

visit to Rome, he always got very angry, an anger which increased

to fury if one mentioned any of the ruins. ‘Ah, bah!’ he would

exclaim, ‘the Colay-sayem, is it?--the greatest absurdity that ever

stepped--just a parcel of ould stones!’

In 1843 I left Malta, and, after a few months’ leave, I was ordered

to join the dépôt of the 88th, quartered at Paisley. The dépôt of a

regiment in those days was a miniature battalion, consisting of four

companies, under command of a major. We were particularly fortunate

in our commanding officer, who always was kind and considerate to

everyone. We also had a good band--a privilege which a dépôt was

allowed to enjoy at that time.

Very soon after joining at Paisley, I was sent on detachment to

Dumbarton Castle. My party consisted of a sergeant, a corporal, and

twenty men. When at Paisley, I was provided with a servant--a stately

old soldier named Thomas Pillsworth, but better known afterwards as

‘Illustrious Tom.’ His wife, one of the fattest women I ever saw,

became my housekeeper at Dumbarton. The rock of Dumbarton is a lonely

spot, and to a young fellow of twenty-one was regular banishment. For

a day or two I sat on the top of the rock and moaned over my sad fate,

but very soon all became changed, for I was most kindly received by

the families in the county, and I look back to the period of my being

quartered in Dumbarton Castle as a most agreeable reminiscence. When

I was there, I was known as ‘the governor of the castle.’ My command

consisted of a master gunner, six old artillerymen, and my detachment.

The castle was armed with seven guns.

The Queen’s birthday was announced in general orders, and, as usual,

the notice was given that every fort in Scotland should fire a salute

of twenty-one guns. There existed among the papers in the office a

memorandum from the Adjutant-General in Scotland that the guns at

Dumbarton Castle were not to be fired, _but on this occasion the said

document could not be found_, so I sent for the old master gunner,

who informed me that the guns had not been used since the death of His

Majesty George IV. But I overcame his scruples by writing an order

that a royal salute was to be fired next day. The six patriarchal

artillerymen were full of zeal, and we managed in this wise: The

detachment of Connaught Rangers was formed up on the top of the rock;

the seven old guns were first fired by the ancient gunners, and then

my men fired a _feu-de-joie_. This gave time for the venerable

artillerymen to load again, and to repeat the fire, an operation which

I am thankful to say was effected without any accident, till the

twenty-one rounds had been expended.

After giving three hearty cheers for Her Majesty, I dismissed my

men to their dinners, and the ancient warriors marched off to their

quarters very pleased with their performance. But the authorities

did not approve of our loyalty; for I received a reprimand, and an

order to pay for the powder expended. Colonel Thorndike, R.A., (late

General Thorndike) came to my assistance in this dilemma, and, through

his influence, I think I was not called upon to pay anything. As,

fortunately, I had blown up nobody, I did not grieve much over the

official blowing up, as it was earned in a good cause--loyalty to Her

Majesty the Queen.

As the dépôt of the 88th were ordered to proceed from Paisley to

Aberdeen, I ceased to be Governor of Dumbarton Castle. We went by train

to Stirling, and began there a most enjoyable march. We were received

everywhere with open arms, no troops having been along that road since

the time of the Peninsular War. The men were not allowed to pay a penny

at their billets, and the officers were most kindly welcomed by the

hospitable families on whom they were quartered. It was amusing to hear

the men giving an account of their adventures as we marched from one

place to another.

One day I heard two of them remarking on the fate of a sergeant who had

been reduced to the ranks for drunkenness.

‘It’s sorry I am for Sergeant ---- to be broke by court-martial,’ said

one.

‘Bedad,’ replied the other, ‘serve him right. He thought he could get

drunk, _like an officer_!’

Aberdeen in the year 1844 was a most charming quarter. There was

no railway at that period to carry people away to London, or even

Edinburgh, and many of the county families came in for the balls at the

Assembly Rooms, and were very kind in asking the officers of the 88th

to stay in their houses in the county. One of my brother officers had a

servant named Casey, who had been quartered at Corfu with the regiment,

and was able to play the guitar, and sing Italian airs, the words of

which could scarcely be said to belong to any particular language.

There was a good theatre at Aberdeen, and Casey was asked to sing

between the acts of some play that was having a run. The whole town was

placarded with notices that ‘a distinguished amateur would sing the

“Prayer in Norma.”’ We officers were greatly interested in this event,

and all of us gave Casey different articles of dress, so that he might

appear in proper form before the Aberdeen audience. The curtain drew

up, and our hero came forward, and sang very well; but, alas, some

one had given him whisky before going on the stage, a beverage which

naturally took effect on his Irish nature, and instead of retiring

gracefully after the conclusion of his song, to our intense disgust,

he gave a sort of a screech, and began to dance an Irish jig with the

greatest energy. The effect was wonderful, and the gods were delighted.

At length the curtain fell, but the noise behind it intimated only too

plainly that poor Casey was being taken off to the guard-room, where he

passed the night in his borrowed plumes.

I had returned on one occasion to the barracks after a tour of visits

in the county to many most agreeable houses. Rather dejected, I was

watching Illustrious Tom unpacking my portmanteau. At first I did not

take much notice, but very soon my attention was drawn to my servant’s

performances. First he placed a blotting-book on the table, then

he took out another from my portmanteau, and put it on my chest of

drawers, and then he placed another somewhere else, and so on, till at

last he could find no more vacant resting-places, and he stood in the

middle of the room, bearing some resemblance to a sapient owl, with a

blotting-book held in his claws.

‘What _are_ you doing, Tom, with all these blotting-books?’ I at

length exclaimed.

‘Sure,’ said the Illustrious, ‘I thought ye would be plased. I tuck the

different books from the bed-rooms in which yer honour slept. They look

well _here_, and they’ll nivir miss them _there_.’

As I received his intimation with shouts of laughter and volleys of

abuse, Tom drew himself up to attention, faced about, and marched out

of my room. My time was fully occupied for several days in finding out

to whom the different blotting-books belonged.

A sudden order came for us to leave Scotland and proceed to Ireland. We

embarked at Aberdeen in a steamer, and, after a good passage, arrived

at Granton, where we landed, and marched through Edinburgh, and thence

by train to Glasgow, in which town we were delayed a few days, and then

we were taken over to Ireland. While in Glasgow we were made honorary

members of the 92nd Highlanders’ mess, and at the end of our stay,

when we asked for our bills, were told that we were the guests of the

regiment.

What a pleasant reminiscence is that of Irish quarters in old times!

Everyone was kind and hospitable to the officers of the Army, from

the squire in his ancient castle, to the squireen in his more modest

house, the property of the latter being often so limited in extent that

you could sit on the lodge gate and kick the front door open. We were

welcome even to the dwellers in cottages, who, when I entered their

lowly cabins, would shout, ‘Come in, captin; ye’re welcome, sorr;’ and,

if I did stumble over something in the dark, what did it matter when I

was re-assured by the voice of my host saying, ‘Niver mind, yer honor,

it’s only a schlip of a pig?’ and truly the repeated grunt, grunt,

which followed showed that I had disturbed somewhat unceremoniously the

slumbers of that valuable animal, which was fed on the _lavings_,

and, when fattened up, ‘sowld to pay the rint.’ Then the ‘quality’

were always glad to welcome a young, merry officer, and in the evening

one of the ‘boys,’ who could ‘play the fiddle first-rate,’ was called

in to show his talent, and dance after dance made the night seem too

short. What a pleasant time to look back to! Poor old Ireland, with its

fearful murders of men and women, and slaying of hounds and cattle,

is wofully changed, and I fear the officers of regiments quartered

there now do not receive such kindness as I did from high and low. I

suppose there was something in the air in those days that made us all

so light-hearted, for not a day passed that there was not some fun,

and most of the venturesome acts in which we indulged were done for the

pure love of sport.

One evening, at Birr, a match, a sort of steeple-chase, was made

between two of my brother officers. The night was pitch-dark, and they

were to be mounted on their own horses, and to be led into a field

about half a mile from the barracks. They were to get over the wall as

well as they could, and the first of them who arrived mounted at the

mess-room door was to be the winner. They got on their nags and were

taken off to the starting-post, where they were invisible to us. We

could only hear the word ‘Off!’ given by the starter. The difficulty

was to get over the wall in the dark. One of the riders had a servant,

a private in the Rangers, who, of course, was delighted with the

sport. We were astounded to hear the voice of this man exclaiming,

‘Ride at me, Mr. John, ride at me, sorr!’ and all of a sudden a flash

burst forth for a moment, and ‘Mr. John’ made for the light, got over

the fence, and rode in triumphant as winner. Pat Casey, his servant,

having made a ‘slap in the wall,’ had then cleverly lit a whole box of

lucifers at the place, and thereby enabled his master to get out of the

field and come in conqueror.

CHAPTER II.

IN THE WEST INDIES.

TRALEE--A VENTURESOME FEAT--OLD PATE--AN IRISH CORNET--PADDY

OYSTERS--ORDERED TO BARBADOES--GRENADA--CAPTAIN ASTLEY’S

CREOLE--ST. GEORGES--LAND-CRAB CATCHING--TURTLE TURNING--A

JIGGER TOE--RECOLLECTIONS OF TRINIDAD--HALIFAX, NOVA

SCOTIA--BURNING OF THE BARRACKS--LOBSTER-SPEARING--PRESENT OF A

BEAR--SMUGGLING BRUIN ON BOARD--OUR PET IN THE ZOO.

CHAPTER II.

We were quartered for some time at Tralee, a place I shall ever

remember with the kindliest feelings for its inhabitants, whose great

hospitality was only equalled by their love of good honest sport. On

one occasion, when the seniors of the mess were not present, a deal of

good-natured chaff had gone on after dinner in the mess-room, where

some of the members of the Chute hounds had assembled as guests.

The subject on the tapis was the capabilities of a mare I possessed,

which I considered one of the best fencers I ever saw. If you hurried

her at her fences she was sure to give you a fall, but leave her alone

and nothing in the shape of high banks, for which the country round

Tralee was famous, would stop her. The chaff went on, and at length I

said,

‘I am quite sure the mare would jump this table if asked to do so.’

As many voices proclaimed the impossibility of such a feat, I desired

the mess-waiter to tell my groom to saddle the mare and bring her into

the mess-room. In a short time the noise of her feet was heard, and as

soon as she entered the room, Bayley, a brother officer, jumped up and

vaulted on her back. I copy the following narrative from the _New

Sporting Magazine_, 1850, page 353.

‘Dining at the mess of the “Indomitable Rangers” on the evening of the

very last run, I there witnessed an exploit performed which I believe

has never been equalled, and I do think never will be excelled. The

cloth having been drawn, social converse replaced the cool formality,

which is, by some mischance or other, almost the invariable attendant

upon dinner-parties; and as might be expected amongst a party where all

were sportsmen, and on the evening of a hunting day when a good fox had

shown much sport, the topic chosen was the various particulars of the

run, and the mode in which each hunter had done its work.

‘“I saw you kiss your mother earth twice, Maxwell,” remarked a brother

officer; “believe me, that mare of yours is not just the thing,” and

here from all sides followed many good-humoured criticisms upon the

jumping qualities of my friend’s prad, to which he (highly delighted

at having such an opportunity afforded him “for a lark,”) lustily

protested the mare should practically reply by then and there popping

over the mess-table. The groom being immediately summoned, received in

silence, and, as may be imagined, with staring amazement, his master’s

order “to saddle the mare and bring her in.” Many of those present

tried to stay the proceedings, but it was now too late; a wilful

man, strong in the justice of his cause, would have his way, and in

came them mare accordingly, much to the consternation of the company

assembled, who heard her tramp, tramp, up the boarded passage, knocking

out of it the sound of at least a troop of heavy horse.

‘Mounted by Mr. Bayley, amidst the glare of wax lights and a blazing

coal fire, she actually jumped across the mess-table (a good four feet

and a half) without laying an iron on it, and, landing safe on the

other side, stood gentle and quiet as a lamb upon the floor, under

which (as though to increase the hazard of the deed) lay a wine-cellar

of from ten to twelve feet deep.’

I remember with great satisfaction that there was not a single bet on

the event, and that the mare acquitted herself in the most gallant way,

shaking her head and clearing her nostrils, quite pleased after having

done what was required of her in the well-lighted mess-room.

The quotation from the _Sporting Magazine_ was written and signed

by one who, besides being the most pleasant of companions, was a

first-rate sportsman. If ‘Old Pate’ should happen to read these stories

of a time long past, I am sure he will recall with pleasure the days

gone by.

There was a distinguished cavalry regiment quartered in Ireland during

the time our dépôt was wandering about the country. A young cornet

joined, who, I believe, was a very good fellow, but so very Irish that

his brother officers would not allow him to go out to any parties in

the county. Mrs. ----, a very clever woman, was the wife of a gentleman

who was proprietor of a large estate near the town where our hero’s

regiment was stationed. Having previously met the young dragoon, and

being delighted with his Milesian remarks, she sent him a pressing

invitation to a picnic which she intended giving. After a great deal of

trouble he received permission to go, but on the sole condition that he

was not to speak a single word the whole time he was there. So off he

started, bound by his promise to act the mute.

The scene of the picnic was near a lake, and Mrs. ---- managed that

the young soldier should accompany a very pretty and amusing girl for

a walk before luncheon. Having been told by her hostess that Mr. ----

was a most agreeable Irishman, she was very much surprised that, in

answer to all her remarks, he only said, ‘Ho, ha!’ the monotony of

which reply terribly bored her. As they came near the lake, however,

and were turning a corner, a great swan flew along the water with

such a startling noise that it took our poor cornet by surprise, and,

forgetting that he was to act the mute, he exclaimed, ‘Holy Biddy, look

at the goose!’ I believe he was never allowed to go to any parties

again.

In by-gone days valuable horses were often picked up in unexpected

ways. My father, who was a captain in the 23rd Dragoons when only

sixteen years old, was a wonderfully good judge of a horse. Once, when

quartered in Ireland, he saw a man seated on a kish of oysters on the

back of a good-looking animal.

‘Paddy, will ye sell your horse?’ exclaimed my father.

‘Bedad I will,’ was the reply.

‘How much will ye take?’ was the next question.

After scratching his head for some time, the man mentioned a price,

which my father agreed to give him. The bargain seemed to be coming to

an end, when the Irishman said,

‘Och, tear-an-ages, I forgot the oysters!’ which difficulty was met by

the would-be purchaser declaring,

‘I’ll buy you, your horse, and your oysters.’

Whether the man was kept I do not know, but the horse and the oysters

became my father’s property, and most probably a merry supper-party

disposed of the latter to commemorate the event. The new purchase

was named ‘Paddy Oysters,’ and an acquisition he proved, for he won

several plates in Ireland, and was well known everywhere. My father

became major of the 23rd Dragoons, and then raised a battalion of the

Cameronians, 26th Regiment, hoping to get the lieutenant-colonelcy

of a cavalry regiment, as he had always served in that branch of the

service; but the Duke of York told him he must command the corps

he had raised, a high honour to him, and he went out to Spain as

lieutenant-colonel of the 26th Cameronians, which formed part of the

force under Sir John Moore, a personal friend of his own. So my father

went to the wars, and took Paddy Oysters as his charger. At the battle

of Corunna his left arm was shattered by a cannon ball, and he was

hurried off on board a transport, where the wounded limb was taken out

at the socket. Alas! poor Paddy Oysters! The order was given that all

horses were to be shot to prevent them falling into the hands of the

French; so the gallant charger was condemned to die. The colonel’s

groom would allow no one to touch his master’s faithful steed. Although

the enemy was approaching, and no doubt there was a good deal of hurry

and excitement, he waited for orders, which were given, and Paddy

Oysters fell dead on the beach. These particulars were given me by my

father as well as by my uncle, who was present at the time.

A soldier’s life is one of continual change. I suppose, among its many

charms, that of uncertainty is one of the greatest. We were quartered

at Tralee, and in the full enjoyment of all the sport and hospitality

which are the distinguishing features of that most charming quarter. I

well remember one evening; we had had a first-rate run with the Chute

fox-hounds, and it was late before I got back to my quarters. My room

looked very comfortable, Illustrious Tom having made a fine fire of

turf and coal mixed. Everything seemed so pleasant, and I daresay the

thought entered my mind what a jolly season was before me. There were

some letters on the table. One official-looking document I left to

the last, believing it referred to some court-martial duty. However,

at length I opened it and found a note from my commanding officer,

regretting that he was obliged to forward the enclosed to me; which

was an order from the Horse Guards for Captain Maxwell to proceed to

join the head-quarters of the 88th Connaught Rangers at Barbadoes,

West Indies. So my Irish campaign was over, and I had to say farewell

to Tralee and all its charms, and to leave behind me not only my

brothers-in-arms, but, among other treasures, Illustrious Tom and his

fat wife.

The steamer started from Southampton. We touched at Madeira, and, after

a prosperous passage, cast anchor at Barbadoes.

The head-quarters of the Connaught Rangers were ordered to Trinidad,

four companies under my command to the Island of Grenada, and another

detachment under Captain Bayley to St. Vincent. The 88th had suffered

fearfully from that awful disease, yellow fever. Our much beloved

Colonel Ormsby Phibbs had fallen a victim to it, and many men had lost

their lives. Yellow Jack left us the moment we sailed from Barbadoes,

and during the two years I was quartered at Grenada we had no hospital

to speak of, and only one man died, a poor man who fell a victim to

new rum. We got up a race meeting, open to all the islands in the

West Indies. Captain Astley, 66th Regiment, brought a horse down from

Barbadoes named Creole, and won everything with it. He was a very

nice fellow, and we were all glad at his success, as it showed much

sporting spirit to bring a horse to run at such a distance from where

his regiment was quartered. The stakes he had won were all in dollars,

and the bag he had to carry away was so large that Captain Astley asked

me, as secretary and treasurer, to have the money sent to him through

the Colonial Bank at Grenada. We said farewell to this gallant officer

on board the steamer which was to take him back to Barbadoes. He was

in great spirits, and apparently in excellent health. But, alas! the

return steamer from Barbadoes, in a very few days, brought a letter

from the paymaster of the 66th Regiment, telling the sad story that

Astley was dead; yellow fever having carried him off.

Among the fair places of the earth there is none fairer than the Island

of Grenada. The Carenage and town of St. Georges are situated at the

foot of high hills covered with trees. The road winds up a green

avenue, and gradually ascends to Fort Mathew, where four companies of

the Rangers were quartered. What a view there was from the verandah

of my rooms! The town of St. Georges appeared to consist of toy

buildings, half encircling the harbour, and, far beyond, miles and

miles of sea. In the day time everything was bright and lively: the

balmy trade winds blew fresh and perfumed; the night, when every tree

and bush was lit up by sparkling fireflies, appeared calm and peaceful;

rare flowers seemed to grow uncared for--flowers which at home would

have been highly valued and carefully tended. Fruit is plentiful, and

pine-apples are very fine; a brilliant purple blossom, resembling the

single bell of the hyacinth, opens from each of the diamond-shaped

divisions of the fruit itself, which when young is of the same rich

hue, surrounded by a crest of pink-corded leaves, and protected all

round by others much larger and broader, with saw-like edges and spiked

points. The pine-apple, as it ripens, loses its beautiful and fresh

appearance; the purple changes to pale strawberry, and the leaves

become green. It is placed in ice, and sliced; and there cannot be

anything more delicious than this juicy fruit when the sun is high and

the trade wind has failed.

It would take pages to describe the various dishes a gourmet might

revel in at Grenada; turtle in every way, pepper-pot, and land-crabs.

I can only recommend those who have large yachts to go to the West

Indies for a cruise. Land-crab catching was a very picturesque scene.

These creatures, which live in holes near the sea, are strangely

ugly. At night we used to sally forth, attended by crowds of niggers,

and proceed to an inlet from the sea, on the shore of which the

manchineel-trees grow. If you take refuge from the rain underneath the

shade of these treacherous shrubs, your face and hands become blistered

all over. The ground is full of holes where the land-crabs dwell.

Fascinated by the torch-light (which each native carries), they come

out, and are seized by the expert watcher. These crabs are supposed to

be foul feeders, and when caught they are placed in barrels, and fed

on meal for many days before they are cooked for the table. Another

exciting sport was turtle turning. The natives would watch a turtle

coming out of the water to lay her eggs, and, before she got back to

the sea, would intercept her, and turn her over on her back, in which

position a turtle is quite helpless. Having marked the spot where the

eggs were deposited, they went there, and generally found an enormous

quantity. These eggs when boiled have a skin like parchment. One

becomes in time quite clever at opening them. The way a West Indian

gourmet eats them was always a wonder to me, though I became pretty

expert at it after some practice.

My brother officer, Lee Steere, and myself were greatly interested in

the race-meeting before mentioned. Both of us had horses to run, and

we had to train them ourselves; so we discovered an old house near

the race-course--which we called Jockey Lodge--and there we came and

lived occasionally before the races. The house was very old, and the

wooden flooring quite out of repair. I was attacked in it by some

very disagreeable symptoms. I suppose I had walked on the floor in my

bed-room without slippers; for one morning I felt the most maddening

itching in one of my toes, so I shouted for my servant Seeley, who was

a first-rate attendant, and asked him what could be the matter. He

and his wife had both been slaves who had been freed by Colonel Tidy,

I think, of the 14th Regiment. The colonel had given Seeley a watch

with an inscription on it at the time when he made him a free man.

Whenever anything out of the common happened, Seeley would roll his

eyes, and grin from ear to ear, showing his white teeth, and looking

the embodiment of black mischief. Having examined my foot, he almost

shouted with delight.

‘Yah! yah! Massa got jigger toe. Yah! yah!’

I did not appreciate his mirth and laughter.

‘What am I to do, you horrible old rascal?’ I exclaimed.

Seeley bent nearly double, and with his hands on the front of his

thighs, assumed the attitude of long-stop at cricket, and continued to

give expression to his sense of enjoyment. ‘Yah! yah! ho! ho!’ But at

length he became quiet, and proceeded to business. Taking a needle,

he began to scrape away at my toe, nearly driving me mad. Suddenly he

exclaimed, ‘Hi haw!’ like a donkey braying, and then he appeared to

force the needle gently into my foot, and brought out at the end of it

a little bag, which he held up with a triumphant look; for this was the

jigger, which had laid its eggs in my toe, and which, if allowed to

remain, would have been attended with most serious consequences.

I had a thirty-ton cutter, in which I made several expeditions. Once I

went to Trinidad, where the head-quarters of the 88th were stationed.

I do not remember how long we took to go there, but I recall with

pleasure that delightful sail over a calm sea, a favouring breeze

filling our sails. As we cut through the water, flying fish darted here

and there, either in fear or in play; the nautilus floated gracefully,

dolphins leaped, and sometimes the horrid fin of a shark following our

track might be seen. It is long ago since all this happened, and I can

only trust to my memory, but I think the barracks where the Connaught

Rangers were stationed must have been the very abode of fever. The

mosquitoes were intolerable, and the heat intense. Lord Harris was

governor then, and his gardens were beautiful. I well remember the

luxurious marble bath in his grounds. My colonel, the late Sir H.

Shirley, gave me a room in his quarters, and in the morning he awoke me

to show a huge tarantula, as big as the back of my hand, which a gunner

had found in his boot as he was about to pull it on. I also saw a

centipede, which the assistant-surgeon of the regiment was preserving,

so long that in a common-sized havanna cigar-box it could not be placed

without almost doubling it. So my recollections of Trinidad are a

conglomeration of tarantulas, mosquitoes, centipedes, iced champagne,

and a hearty welcome.

My regiment went from the West Indies to Halifax, Nova Scotia. We

changed from almost perpetual sunshine to a land where snow lay on

the ground for months. When we landed, I well remember how fresh and

beautiful everything looked. I had been accustomed for some years to

see for the most part only the negro women, who, although possessing

figures like graceful ebony statues, that showed to the finest

advantage as they walked erect and firm, bearing their purchases from

market on a tray carried on the top of their heads, still their faces,

as a rule, were ugly, and always black. How surpassingly beautiful we

thought the women of Halifax, with their dazzling complexions, who came

to welcome the wild Irishmen; and further acquaintance showed that

their beauty was only equalled by their frank and gentle ways. The year

we remained at Halifax is a memory never to be effaced. The venerable

and rickety old wooden barracks, which had been condemned during the

time the Duke of Kent was in Nova Scotia, was burnt to the ground when

the 88th and 38th Regiments occupied it as quarters. The conflagration

was a grand sight, which we would willingly have dispensed with, as the

Connaught Rangers never received any compensation for the mess napery

and other valuables lost in that magnificent bonfire.

The mention of land-crab catching in Grenada recalls to me the

lobster-spearing at Halifax, a sport which was carried on at night. In

the bows of the boat large fires were kept burning. Standing ready, the

sportsman holds in his grasp a trident, which is not pointed, but is

like a huge pair of tweezers. The lobsters are seen crawling beneath

the clear water. A sudden dart is made with the trident, the tweezers

open, and seize the prey, which is hauled on board and thrown among

others in the bottom of the boat. Many dozens are caught in this way,

and the scene is very exciting when there are several boats, the fires

in them looking strange and weird-like.

If I were to begin recalling old times at Halifax, with its sleigh

club in winter and the flowers of its summer, I fear I should become

very wearisome. When my regiment was quartered in Nova Scotia, we

got a bear, about the size of a small donkey, which became a great

favourite. The order came for us to return home in the troopship

_Resistance_, commanded by Captain Bradshaw. Great was our

consternation when that officer issued a proclamation that only a

certain number of pets, and no bears, should be allowed on board. We

all vowed that the bear was not to be left behind, and a clever plan

to smuggle it on board was hit upon by two of my brother officers.

As there were many casks to be hoisted on board, chloroform was

administered to our bear, and he was packed in one of them. As it was

going to be hoisted in the air, the captain asked,

‘What’s in that big barrel?’

The Ranger, who was seeing it elevated, answered, promptly,

‘The warm clothing of the regiment, sorr,’ and being asked by a comrade

why he said so, he observed, with a wink, ‘Begorra, I thought the ould

Tartar moight see the fur through the bunghole of the cask and smell--a

bear!’

The sailors were delighted and helped to stow our favourite away, and

I believe the captain never knew anything about it till we had been

some time at sea, and then he pretended to have been cognizant of the

fact all along. Our bear was with us at Parkhurst Barracks, and was

always in a friendly disposition with all. A young fellow dined at our

mess, and I suppose drank too much champagne, for he was discovered

peacefully reposing beside the bear in its kennel.

The 38th Regiment brought home two bears, very fine, large animals. A

child was playing with them and got a hug, which killed the poor little

thing. Down came an official from the Horse Guards with orders that all

regimental bears were to be destroyed; we gave ours, however, to the

Zoo, where it lived in the pit and was fed with buns by children. Round

its neck was a brass collar with ‘Connaught Rangers’ engraved on it. I

do not know its further history.

CHAPTER III.

ENGLAND AND THE CONTINENT.

RETURN TO ENGLAND--PARIS--ENGLISH AND FRENCH OFFICERS--UN

VERITABLE ROSBIF--PLUM POUDIN--TOUCHING COURTESY--ISLE

OF WIGHT--PARKHURST BARRACKS--ELECTION AT COWES--A TIPSY

DRIVER--CAMP AT CHOBHAM--VISITORS TO THE CAMP--THE REV. DR.

CUMMING--IN THE MANUFACTURING DISTRICTS--ORDERED TO THE

EAST--GENEROUS CONDUCT OF THE CUNARDS--WAR DITTIES--SCUTARI--A

WRESTLING MATCH--A GOOD STORY--A FAIRY SCENE--THE SULTAN’S WIFE.

CHAPTER III.

On our arrival in England we disembarked at Chatham and marched to

Canterbury, where we were quartered for some months. The 17th Lancers,

who occupied the cavalry barracks, were one of the most hospitable and

pleasant corps I ever met; many of them have passed away, many of them

fell in the glorious charge of Balaclava, but at the time of which I

write they formed a gathering of the finest specimens of the light

dragoon.

When the leave time came round I went to Paris. The late emperor

was then President of the French Republic, and enjoyment seemed the

order of the day. The balls of the Tuileries were most amusing;

all officers were in uniform, and the dress of the 17th Lancers of

that day, several of whom were present at one of these balls, was

universally admired. I went in the tight coatee with epaulettes which

was an infantry officer’s costume at that time, and no doubt thought

myself very fine; but my vanity received a shock when a French lady

passed, and, looking towards me, said to her friend, ‘Ma foi, c’est un

véritable Rosbif!’ We were received with great civility by the officers

of the artillery quartered at Vincennes, who invited us to pay them a

visit, which we did a day or two after the ball. Nothing could exceed

the friendliness of these French gunners. We dined with them in a café,

as they had no mess, and I remember the great event was the ‘plum

poudin,’ the very remembrance of which fills my mind with horror. The

excitement of the Frenchmen was intense when a large soup tureen was

placed on the table. ‘Ah, le voilà! Le plum poudin! Ah, oh!’ When the

cover was removed a mass of liquid horrors was brought to view, among

which a bottle of cognac was poured and then lighted. This fearful

decoction was ladled out into soup plates, and with anxious eyes our

friends gazed on us as we began to eat. I suppose the brandy saved us,

but we certainly endangered our lives for the honour of our country.

When we were leaving, these kindly-disposed fellows insisted on paying

our cab hire to Paris, and we had the greatest difficulty in preventing

them doing so. We were anxious to give them some return for their

civility, so the lancers and myself resolved to ask them to dinner at

the Rocher de Cancale. A note was therefore despatched requesting the

pleasure of their company. A reply came to me from one of them, a nice

young fellow called Joubert, begging us to postpone the entertainment

for a week. Of course this was complied with, and when the week had

elapsed we had a very jolly party. Joubert accounted for the delay

which had been requested, which was owing, as he said, to the fact that

we had honoured them with our presence in plain clothes, and, as they

had nothing but uniform, they had to get mufti made! This was quite

touching by its simple courtesy.

We had a great deal of fun during our stay in Paris. On our first

arrival my friends, the lancers, asked me to order dinner at the ‘Trois

Frères,’ which was in existence then. I was determined to have a good

dinner; but I had forgotten Parisian ways, having been absent for so

long in the West Indies and America. Anyway, I ordered a portion for

each person. I think we numbered eight; so there were eight soups,

eight fish, eight of each entrée, &c., and the room seemed hardly large

enough to contain our various _plats_. How we did laugh and enjoy

ourselves! With one exception, I am now the only one left of that merry

party.

My leave was drawing to a close, so I left Paris, where every moment

had been so occupied. I had not done much in letter-writing, and

was, therefore, quite ignorant of regimental news. On arriving at

Canterbury, I got a fly, and ordered the driver to take me to the

barracks; but, on reaching the infantry lines, I was surprised to find

all in darkness, although it was only about half-past seven in the

evening.

At length an 88th man came up to the carriage in which I was seated.

‘What’s become of everybody?’ I exclaimed.

‘Well, sorr, they’re all gone; a sudden order came, and they’re gone,

except just a few to give over the barracks.’

‘Gone--where to?’ I asked.

After a time he replied, ‘They’re gone, sorr, to some island; but I

disremember the name.’

With this very unsatisfactory information, I told cabby to drive me to

the ‘Fountain Hotel,’ where I was told that the regiment had left for

the Isle of Wight.

Parkhurst Barracks was occupied by only one battalion, the 88th, and

the four company dépôt of the Cameronians. What delightful quarters

the Isle of Wight was in these days! There was no railway then in the

island; a four-horse coach plied between Newport and Hyde, and the

drive was most enjoyable. The pretty little villages have now become

staring towns. It is difficult to find a retired nook in the noisy

country now all built over.

The officers of the 88th received the greatest hospitality from

everyone in the Isle of Wight. The numbers were not overwhelming, there

being few red-coats at the barracks. The private soldiers also were

most kindly treated by the inhabitants of this charming island. It is

a strange fact that at home in Britain, because a man wears a red coat

and is liable to a greater punishment for drunkenness than a civilian,

kind-hearted men consider themselves bound to offer him a dram, and

even press him to take it, while to another class of men they would

only wish ‘God speed.’ When my regiment was quartered at Parkhurst

Barracks, an election took place, and the usually quiet town of Cowes

was very excited. I had been asked to dinner there by a very hospitable

host, and a married brother officer offered me a seat in his carriage.

The party was a very pleasant one, and the cheers of the successful

candidate’s supporters were distinctly heard every now and then.

When we were leaving, my friend saw that his coachman, a private

soldier, had been drinking success to the newly-elected member--in

other words, was very drunk, so he whispered to me to get inside with

his wife, and that he would drive. The lady, however, was not to be

deceived by remarks about the pleasures of smoking a cigar and driving

home by moonlight. She soon exclaimed,

‘I am sure there is something wrong,’ and at this moment coachee made a

tremendous lurch. ‘The servant is drunk. He will knock my husband off

the box. Oh! Captain Maxwell, do, do something.’

What could I do to pacify this kind lady, whose husband was my dearest

friend? I was in a dreadful quandary. A bright idea came to the anxious

wife.

‘Oh, Captain Maxwell, will you hold the man on to the box?’

So I let down the front window, and with considerable difficulty got

hold of some part of the horrid man’s dress, and so pretended to keep

him steady. The tipsy wretch made a horrible lurch, and, giving his

master a poke in the ribs, said, in a tone half jovial, half sad,

‘Meejor, the missus is pulling my tail!’

We left the Isle of Wight, and, after being quartered for some months

at Portsmouth, proceeded to join the camp at Chobham. How much we

enjoyed that bloodless campaign, and how absurdly proud of ourselves

we all were! The Connaught Rangers were composed of as fine a body of

men as could be mustered anywhere, well seasoned soldiers, full of

loyalty to the Queen, and imbued with a thorough knowledge of their

duties, which it takes many years to learn, and thus enable a private

to become a good non-commissioned officer. In two years from that time

how few remained alive! Most of them repose in death on the heights of

Sebastopol, where the wild flowers cover their honoured graves. But

Chobham was the first camp which had been formed for many years, and

we all enjoyed it very much. It was amusing to watch the curiosity

displayed by civilians. I have often seen visitors to the camp walk

through our mess-kitchen, and horrify our cook by taking the lids off

some of his most cherished pots to see what we were to have for dinner.

I remember one day, after a long field-day in the warm sun, going to

my tent, throwing myself into an arm-chair, and very nearly falling

asleep, when I heard a whispering going on at the entrance, which was

gently opened, when a pretty face peeped in, and I heard the remark

made, ‘He is asleep,’ but, like the celebrated weasel, I had an eye

open. One peculiar feature of Chobham at that time was, that friends

who had previously ignored one’s existence all of a sudden became

greatly interested in our welfare, especially about luncheon time. The

camp at Chobham was the first opportunity many of us had of seeing

regiments combined together in brigades and divisions. It was a grand

picnic, and was the melodious overture to the great tragedy of the

Crimean War.

We were visited by royal personages, by soldiers, sailors, lawyers,

and clergymen. The celebrated Dr. Cumming once addressed the men. I

remember some of his remarks:

‘I am a man of peace, but, if anyone tried to knock me down, I would do

all I could to floor him first.’

The chaplain-general preached a sermon. He said,

‘The last time he had seen such a gathering of soldiers, he himself had

taken an active part, for he was then an officer under Wellington.’

Though no one was certain then that there would be war, yet there was

a sulphurous vapour impregnating the air, which the most peaceable

inhaled, and the next year the Crimean campaign came on.

After leaving Chobham, we were sent to the manufacturing districts. The

head-quarters was stationed at Bury, in Lancashire, and the left wing,

to which I belonged, was sent to Ashton-under-Line. The cotton-spinners

were most hospitable to us. I have a very kindly remembrance of a Mr.

Harrison, whose house was in the neighbourhood of our barracks, and who

showed me the greatest kindness. But the plot was thickening, and the

order came for the Connaught Rangers to embark for the East. The whole

of Ashton turned out to see us march away. The streets were decorated,

and as the colours were carried past every head was uncovered. One

man, however, standing near the hotel in the street through which we

passed, did not take off his hat. A young fellow went up to him, and, I

suppose, told him to uncover, but he refused to do so. I heard him say:

‘No, I won’t.’ The next moment he was lying on the ground, the young

fellow having hit him right between the eyes, and knocked him down. As

we proceeded onward, an old woman knelt, and in a loud voice blessed

the colours.

When we arrived in Liverpool, we were halted near the Exchange, and

the mayor made a speech, which was received with great cheering. The

ships in the harbour were gaily decorated with flags, and crowds of

people shouted and cheered. On the 4th of April, 1854, the Connaught

Rangers embarked on board the _Niagara_, one of Cunard’s finest

steamers, on which we were most sumptuously entertained. On arriving at

Constantinople we asked for our bill, and were informed we were guests

of the Cunards. We subscribed, and presented the captain with a watch.

Our passage out was a very prosperous one. A calm sea prevailed

nearly all the time. Our band played often on deck, and in the bright

moonlight the men sat in groups and sang merrily. I still possess some

of their cheery ditties.

LOVE, FAREWELL.

‘Now, brave boys, we’re bound for marchin’,

Both to Portingale and Spain;

Drums are batin’, colours flyin’,

And the divil a back we’ll come agin.

So, love, farewell!

‘Eighty-eighty and Inniskillen,

Boys that’s able, boys that’s willin’,

Faugh-a-ballagh and County Down,

Stand by the Harp, and stand by the Crown.

So, love, farewell!

‘The colonel cries, “Boys, are yez ready?”

“We’re at your back, sir, firm and steady,

Our pouches filled with ball and pouther,

And a firelock sloped on every shoulther.”

So, love, farewell!

‘Och, Judy dear, ye’re young and tender,

When I’m away ye’ll not surrender,

But hould out like an ancient Roman,

And I’ll make you--an honest woman.

So, love, farewell!

‘Och, Judy, should I die in glory,

In the papers ye’ll read my awful story;

But I’m so bothered with yer charms,

I’d rather die within your arms.

So, love, farewell!’

I must give another specimen, which, if not very well spelt, is

otherwise a proof of the loyalty of a gallant soldier, who afterwards

fell at Sebastopol. I copy the whole as given to me on board the

_Niagara_.

‘A soldier that is bound for this late war, and who goes with the most

gratified assurance of coming home again with the head of the Disturber

of Europe; or, dying like a soldier in the field, and with the heart of

a real true subject, he says to his comrades:--

COME TO THE DANOBE.

(_Composed by Private Edward Murphy, Light Company, 88th

Regiment._)

‘Our allies to joine, my boys,

The English and Frinch

Is going to combine, my boys.

We’ll fight till the last,

And no mortal we’ll spare, my boys.

What better fun could you ask

Than chasing the bear, my boys?

Now let us with curage

Enter the field, my boys,

And the bigoted tyrent

We’ll make him yield, my boys;

And out of the Principalities

We’ll make him elope;

We’ll show him more play

Then he got at Synope.

Come, then, come to the Danobe.

For the Rangers at present

Is wiling to fight, I know,

And with Colonel Shirley no

Dangers they’ll slight, I know.

May he lead them on to fame,

As Wallace before has don,

And live to command us

Untill the battle’s won.

Then come to the Danobe,

And our officers all

The right sort of chaps are they,

Comboyned one and all,

And ready for the fray,

We’ll conquer or die,

And may we all live to see

The Rushins to fly,

Beat both on land and sea.’

On arriving at Gallipoli, we received orders to proceed on to

Constantinople. A boat was upset close to our steamer, and one of the

Turks took refuge in the paddle-wheel! Most fortunately, he was not

killed. When he came on board, we gave him dry clothes, and, as it was

the men’s dinner hour, they offered him some pork. His face would have

made a good picture. I mention this as the first mistake made by our

soldiers in their dealings with Mohammedans.

We anchored near Scutari, between the Sultan’s seraglio and the

opposite shore, and in the afternoon we disembarked, and marched into

Scutari Barracks, a fine building capable of containing six thousand

men. My company, numbering over one hundred, were all in one room.

The quarters told off for two subalterns and myself consisted of one

large room, lighted by three windows, in front of which was an ottoman

with pillows. Cleanliness was not the order of the day, so there were

many inhabitants besides ourselves. Our view was not enlivening,

as we looked out on the Scutari burying ground, where tall, sombre

cypress-trees waved sadly over the tombs of thousands of Mahomet’s

followers. In the evening we went for a walk, and, seeing a crowd, we

made towards it and found two Turks stripped to the skin, their only

garment being a kind of bathing drawers. They were smeared with oil and

were engaged wrestling. The wrestlers were not a very pleasing sight,

but the _entourage_ was most amusing. Here was a Connaught Ranger

in his neat red coat and white belt, without any weapon at all; there a

wild warrior of some eastern tribe, armed to the teeth with formidable

pistols and curved scimitar. There were women covered up to the eyes,

but the eyes were soft and bright, Greeks with long pipes, Turks in

green turbans, and Turks in white--a strange and animated scene.

A good story was told of a gallant colonel commanding a most

distinguished regiment. He had been given quarters in the Sultan’s

wing in Scutari Barracks. A pasha came to pay him an official visit,

and, I suppose, approached with reverence the apartments sacred in his

estimation. He took off his slippers at the door and entered the room,

when, horror of horrors! what did he see?--the said colonel occupied

frying pork in a dispatcher on the Sultan’s table.

A brother officer and myself crossed one day by the steamer which

plied from Scutari to Galata, and there hired a caique. We were bound

for the sweet waters of Europe. We were taken up the Golden Horn, and

then floated past green hills and picturesque-looking cottages. All

round us were hundreds of gilded caiques laden with handsome women in

glittering attire, and boats whose Greek crews sang in wild chorus.

As we proceeded onward the river became narrow, and we arrived at

the sweet waters of Europe. It was a fairy scene. Graceful forms in

lovely dresses were dotted here and there on the green grass under

the shade of the trees, very transparent veils concealing their

faces, their long fringed eyes beaming upon us, for the unbelievers

were in high favour at that time. We passed also stately Turks, gay

Frenchmen, steady-looking Britons, and wonderful Cinderella coaches. A

gilded carriage approached, drawn by four black horses, covered with

silver trappings; this was followed by a line of other gilded coaches

surrounded by armed blacks. A lovely woman glittering with diamonds,

her face barely concealed by the thin gauze she wore, was in the

stately equipage. This was the Sultan’s wife. In the third carriage

following hers was seated a most beautiful girl, by whose charms my

brother officer was quite struck. Though he was jostled by the armed

blacks, pushed by the escort, knocked by the Turks, he still kept as

close as possible to No. 3 carriage. There are many old women at the

valley of sweet waters who sell bouquets. One came near and offered

some flowers to my brother-officer, who took them, and, watching his

opportunity, presented them to this Nourmahal. She smiled and placed

them in her bosom, and, taking a rose from the bouquet, held it towards

my friend, and then pressed the flower to her lips, on perceiving which

the armed blacks began to swagger offensively. The escort of lancers

closed up, and, as the carriages were moving away, she rolled her

handkerchief up and threw it at my bewildered friend. She then held a

looking-glass towards him and pressed it in her arms, thus ending the

romance as far as I know, for the gilded coaches and prancing escort

all moved on and gradually faded from our sight.

CHAPTER IV.

IN TURKEY AND THE CRIMEA.

ENCHANTING SCENE--LOSS OF BAGGAGE HORSES--SIR GEORGE BROWN’S

ORDER--IDENTIFICATION OF LOST HORSES--DEALINGS WITH THE

PEASANTRY--FORAGING--CHOLERA IN BULGARIA--DISAGREEABLE

MISTAKE--DR. SHEGOG--DEVOTION TO HIS WORK AND SUDDEN

DEATH--DEATH OF AN OFFICER--EMBARKATION AT VARNA--THE BLACK SEA

FLEET--KIND SOLDIERS--OUR FIRST SCARE IN THE CRIMEA--KINDNESS

OF LORD RAGLAN--AN OUTLYING PICQUET--STORY OF A CONNAUGHT

RANGER--CAPTURE OF BALACLAVA--A SERIOUS MISTAKE.

CHAPTER IV.

An the 29th of May, 1854, we embarked on board the _Cambria_, and

on the 30th arrived at Varna, where we encamped for a few days. On the

5th of June we changed our ground. Our tents were pitched on a height

between two lakes. The hills all around us were covered with young

trees in beautiful foliage, and on our right was a valley, through

which a broad river flowed. The green hills were dotted everywhere

with white tents, and curling smoke was stealing out of the woods from

many a bivouac fire. It was an enchanting sight. Some of our baggage

horses had been stolen, but a few had been recovered. As there was a

difficulty, however, in recognising them, Sir George Brown, the general

of the light division, issued an order that each animal belonging to

the different regiments forming the light division should have some

identifying mark, so that, if any of them were stolen, their recovery

might be facilitated.

The adjutant of the Connaught Rangers, Arthur Maule, gave orders to

his batman to have his initials burnt on his horse’s hind-quarters.

I suppose Paddy did not know what initials meant, for Maule, on

proceeding with his batman to inspect his nag, found B. R. beautifully

clipped and burnt on the charger’s hind-quarters.

‘What does B. R. mean?’ said the astonished officer. ‘My initials are

A. M.’

‘Arrah, sure, sir,’ replied the rather offended groom, ‘B. R. stands

for British Army.’

The peasantry were much alarmed at our approach at first; but they very

soon found out that we were willing to pay freely for the produce of

their farms, and in process of time they actually walked through our

camp shouting out what they had for sale. One poor man I heard crying

out, in a very loud voice, ‘Bono Johnny. Bono _bad_ eggs!’ the

result, no doubt, of some wag’s tuition. Colonel Sanders, of the 19th

Regiment, and myself rode out one day to forage among the villages,

whose inhabitants were generally pleased to provide us with whatever

they possessed for a consideration.

This day we had been very successful, and our appearance would have

surprised those at home, who think officers of the Army the most

luxurious of men. Colonel Sanders had become possessor of several fresh

eggs, which he placed in his pockets. I was the proud owner of a duck

and two hens, which were put in front of me on the baggage pony I was

riding. We got on very well at first; but my duck became obstreperous,

and the hens struggled, so my nag began to kick, and roused Colonel

Sanders’ charger to do likewise--alas! for the colonel’s coat, where

now the pomp and circumstance of glorious war? ‘Oh! the eggs are all

smashed!’ was the colonel’s most distressing announcement. We rode

into camp very curious specimens of the British soldier. Sanders went

away to pass a _mauvais quart d’heure_ with his batman, and I was

received with joy by my servant, Hopkins, who expressed his delight in

the following forcible, if not very elegant terms:

‘Hurroo! here’s fowls. I’ve had nothing to rub the sweat off my teeth

but stale bread, Hurroo!’

The time passed in Bulgaria by the light division would have been a

long continued picnic had not pestilence come upon us, and cholera

visited our camp in its most cruel form. It is very sad to recall to

one’s memory that beautiful spot which simply by a change of wind was

altered from a paradise to a place where death in one of its most

horrid forms reigned supreme. We changed our ground very often, but the

hideous demon followed us wherever we went, and we welcomed the order

when issued for the light division to march to Varna, there to embark.

One cold, raw evening, when cholera was at its worst, several of us

were sitting in my tent drinking hot rum and water. The sergeant of

my company came to make some report, and I offered him some hot grog,

which he accepted. With the greatest care I mixed the drink, and gave

it to him, while he made some kindly remark as he drank it off, and

then went away. Some one else, coming into the tent soon after, was

also invited to ‘liquor up.’ The mug in which the sergeant’s grog had

been was still on the table, and the little that was left looked so

curious that I put my lips to it, and was terribly distressed to find

that I had used salt instead of sugar in concocting it. The great fear

came over me that it would make the sergeant feel sick, and that he

might fancy he had taken cholera; so I sent for him, and, when he came,

I told him of my mistake. His answer surprised me; for he said he knew

it was salt from the taste.

‘But, sergeant, was it not very horrid?’ I exclaimed.

‘Well, sir, it was rather nauseous,’ he replied.

‘Why did you drink it?’ I asked.

‘I did not like to let on that I knew it, as you had kindly given me

the drink,’ was the astounding reply.

On our march to Varna, we were encamped on the ground which had been

vacated by the 79th Highlanders. Our tents were pitched, but great

difficulty had been experienced in getting the sick settled in camp,

and the doctors had been most terribly overworked. When the detachment

of the 88th Regiment were quartered at Grenada in the West Indies, I

saw mentioned in the _Gazette_ the appointment to the Connaught

Rangers of a man with a very curious name, Shegog. This name haunted

me, and I never took up a newspaper without reading that Shegog was

appointed assistant-surgeon to the 88th. The steamer arrived early

one morning at Grenada, and I was wondering what news had come from

England when my servant announced, ‘Dr. Shegog.’ The doctor was a

curious-looking man, with very prominent eyes, and, when he put his

hat on, it was always very far back on his head; but, when we came to

know him, we found that there never was a truer man than ‘Old Shay;’

no warmer heart ever beat than his. He accompanied the regiment to

Nova Scotia; and after being quartered, on our return home, with

me at Ashton-under-Line, he embarked with the 88th on board the

_Niagara_, to proceed to Turkey, in April, 1854.

When cholera attacked the light division in Bulgaria, Dr. Shegog never

flagged in his attentions to the sick, while he took but little care of

himself. The hospital tent was a fearful place to visit. The poor men

were lying on the ground writhing in agony; crying out to be rubbed

in accents most pitiful to hear. Others were too far gone to feel

pain--their last hour was nearly come. ‘Old Shay’ was everywhere, and

doing all in his power for the suffering soldiers. The Roman Catholic

priest might be seen kneeling beside the dying men whispering hope to

their passing spirits.

The joyous order came at last to move to Varna for embarkation. The

news came like a tonic, and the weary men seemed to gain strength

at once. Our brigade marched away, and we were full of joyful

anticipations. Dr. Shegog had been so occupied looking after the sick

that he had no time to think of himself. The poor fellow’s tent was

pitched, but he had no dinner to eat. Steevens, Browne, and I messed

together, and, as our repast was over, nothing remained. Shegog came to

my tent, and asked if we could give him something to eat, but we had

not one scrap left. He was told there was lots of brandy, to which he

was welcome at any time. He thanked us, but said he wanted something to

eat, and at that moment Maule, the adjutant, appeared, and said, ‘Come

along. Old Shay, I have something cold in my tent,’ and so he went

away. Next morning, poor, kind-hearted Shegog died of cholera. A man

came to me, and told me that the doctor was very ill. When I saw him,

all pain was over, and he soon sank to rest. He was buried under the

shade of a tree. Who knows the place of his grave now? But what matter?

Wherever he may be laid, it is the resting-place of a true and honest

worker who lost his life in helping the sick and weary.

As we returned to the camp from Shegog’s funeral, one of my

brothers-in-arms said he felt very unwell. We cheered him up as well as

we could, but as the night went on he became really ill, and, in the

morning, our surgeon passed my tent, and said, ‘Mackie has got

cholera.’

The regiment was preparing to proceed on the march to Varna, for we

had nearly reached our destination, and our chief, Shirley, proposed

that Mackie should be left till later in the day--under charge of a

guard--but, as he decided to accompany the battalion, a stretcher was

made as comfortable as possible for him, and he was carried by some men

of his company. On approaching Varna, he asked them to lower him down

to the ground, which they had no sooner done than poor Mackie expired.

Our embarkation at Varna was effected without difficulty. Our vessel,

which was towed by a steamer, formed one of that magnificent fleet of

men-of-war and transports that covered the Black Sea for miles. When

night came on, the scene was marvellous to look upon; light after

light shining in the far distance over the calm sea. Sometimes the sea

resembled a large harbour full of vessels at anchor, then it assumed

the appearance of long streets in some vast town, but all was silent,

and filled our minds with awe.

The light division landed at Old Fort in the Crimea. There was no

opposition from the Russians, not one of whom was visible, except some

Cossacks on a distant hill. We marched only a few miles from where we

had disembarked, and halted in what appeared to be a stubble-field,

but, as darkness had come on, it was difficult to know where we were.

While we were in this state of perplexity, it began to rain. I was

dressed in, I believe, the identical coat in which I had appeared at

the Tuileries ball, which was uncomfortable for even a drawing-room,

but quite unsuited for a wet night in a ploughed field. For hours the

rain continued, and we were all wet through. The men, in the morning,

managed to light a fire, and one of them brought me a mug of hot rum

and water, which was most delicious. What kindly fellows these private

soldiers were in those by-gone days! I daresay they are the same now,

but I only testify to what they were then, from my experience of them.

In a day or two we got our tents and were comparatively comfortable.

One night some firing was heard, which was taken up by the whole line

of sentries. What an excitement it was! Stevens and I shared the same

tent, sleeping on the ground, without light of any kind, in total

darkness. When the hurly-burly began--the buglers sounding the alarm,

followed by the assembly--we both jumped up, and struggled to get our

shakoes, which, of course, had hid themselves. Scrambling in the dark,

our two heads came bang against each other, and nearly floored us both,

but at length, after a fall over the tent ropes, we reached my company.

One of our staff-sergeants was an excitable man. It is reported of

him that on that night he rushed about with a drawn sword in a most

frantic way, and nearly knocked over a bugler, who, seeing this wild

man rushing at him, fell on his knees, exclaiming, in terrified accents,

‘Spare me, spare me, I’m a frind!’

This was our first scare in the Crimea, and was caused by some horses

having got loose and surprised the sentries.

The story of the Crimean War has been told so often that I am not going

to inflict the oft-repeated tale on my friends, but only mention a few

facts which are not universally known.

It was the day before the battle of the Alma, when one of my brother

officers was taken very ill with symptoms of cholera. There was a small

house, I think a post-house, near our bivouac, and my friend took

refuge there. He had not been long established in these humble quarters

when a staff officer came and informed him he was sorry he must turn

him out, but that Lord Raglan’s head-quarters had been fixed there, and

that his lordship was then approaching.

Lord Raglan came up during this conversation, and, on being informed of

the case, insisted that my brother officer should remain undisturbed

where he was, had a chair brought in to make him more comfortable,

and, later in the day, with his one hand, carried a bowl of soup to

my suffering friend, and this was on the night before the battle of

the Alma. Lord Raglan showed in many acts what a kind heart was his.

Later, when the siege of Sebastopol was progressing, Nat Stevens and I

were sitting in our closed tent, enjoying a fire. Nat was an inventive

genius, and had found an old funnel lying about, and had made a kind

of a chimney, through which escaped some of the smoke, that was caused

by a few damp roots burning in a very primitive fire-place. We were

actually weeping for joy, as a great deal of smoke refused to leave

us. It was snowing heavily outside the tent, when a voice was heard

shouting. With many exclamations of disgust Nat opened the tent. A

figure on a horse, all alone, was barely visible in the snow.

‘What are you burning?’ asked the rider. ‘I see you have a fire by the

smoke.’

‘Roots,’ answered Nat.

‘Remember, do not burn charcoal; an officer of the 97th Regiment has

lost his life by doing so,’ said Lord Raglan, for he it was, who, bent

on deeds of kindly care, rode, unlike the French generals, unattended

by any staff, his visits to the camp thus remaining unknown.

After the battle of the Alma I was ordered to take my company on

outlying picquet. The night was pitch dark, and my instructions were

to communicate with the 19th and 77th, the other two regiments of our

brigade. I could see nothing in front, and in our rear were the bivouac

fires of the light division, and I heard no sound but the murmur of

the voices of the men. At length I was aware that some one mounted was

approaching, and a voice said, ‘Who is in command here?’ I advanced

and explained my position. The owner of the voice gave me several

instructions, one of which was to light a fire, ‘and, if anyone asks

you who gave you these orders, say General Pennefather,’ and he rode

away.

The men of my picquet lit a fire, and very soon after the picquets of

the 19th and 77th approached, attracted by the light, for they also had

been puzzled what to do. We had not been long settled when a clatter

of cavalry sounded coming towards us, and an English voice made the

same observation the general had done! ‘Who is in command here?’ I made

myself known, and great was my surprise to find Thompson of the 17th

Lancers, with a detachment of his regiment, roaming about. For a moment

or two we recalled old scenes in Paris; for he had formed one of that

merry party. We shook hands, and he rode away. I never saw him again.

He was killed in the charge of the light brigade at Balaclava.

Archdeacon Wright told a good story of a Connaught Ranger, after the

battle of the Alma. When we moved on, and came to the river Katcha,

where we halted for the night, there was near our bivouac a country

house, which had been deserted by its inhabitants a very short time

before our arrival. The property was a valuable one, and there were

extensive cellars, in which were many large casks of wine. The

archdeacon was roaming among them, when all of a sudden he came on a

soldier of the Connaught Rangers, who, on being discovered, began to

tap the big barrels with a stick, and appeared to listen attentively to

the sound he made.

‘What are you doing there, my friend?’ said the archdeacon.

‘May it plase yer riverence,’ replied the man, ‘I was looking for the

well, and thought perhaps these barrels moight howld water.’

Some of the men of my company had also been looking for water, for they

brought me a huge can full of the best red wine I ever tasted, and just

in time; for an order was issued soon after forbidding the men to stray

away from the lines of their regiments.

After the flank march through the woods--a most fatiguing

performance--and having come to Mackenzie Farm, and the rear of

Menschikoff’s army, where his carriage was taken, in which was a

drunken aide-de-camp, we continued on to Traktir Bridge, and next day

advanced on Balaclava, which was easily captured. What a pretty smiling

little harbour it was then! approached through vineyards laden with the

most magnificent grapes.

I there received an order to remain in command of some men of the 88th,

who were to form part of a dépôt under command of a colonel. The dépôt

consisted of men from all the regiments. At first we bivouacked in the

open, but, after a little, houses were appropriated for the men, and

the officers had to shift for themselves. I found a cottage, in which

was rather a pretty woman in great fear and distress. It was a clean

little house, and I got some one to explain to the poor woman that

her things would be safe, and that she might come and take them away

whenever it suited her. So she seemed quite pleased, and presented me

with some hens. I do not remember how she managed to get her things

removed, but she and her property disappeared, and I was left in

possession. A looking-glass, which now hangs on the wall in Monreith,

is the only memento I have of that small house.

A very curious thing happened to me, which was very trying at

the time, but in one way had its pleasing aspect, for it brought

forth expressions of kindly feeling from men with whom I had small

acquaintance. In the list of captains in the 88th I was fourth. George

Vaughan Maxwell had been senior captain, but was promoted to be major.

By some strange mistake, when the brevet came out in November or

December, 1854, my name appeared as brevet-major, although there were

three captains senior to me. Colonel Shirley went to Lord Raglan, and

brought to his lordship’s notice the facts of the case: that my seniors

were more entitled to the brevet than I was. Lord Raglan said it was a

very hard case for my seniors, but that as I had received the brevet,

the rule applied--once a major, always a major--and that I was a very

lucky fellow.

So I did duty as a major, and commanded in the trenches as one--in

short, was recognised as a brevet-major. But one cold winter’s morn I

was informed that my appointment was a mistake, and that I must return

to my former rank as captain. It was a very trying position, but no

fault of mine. Everyone sympathised with me, and, when I went on duty

to the trenches, the officer in command, generally, to show how much

he felt for me, gave me charge of some most exposed party, a kindness

I would have most gladly dispensed with. My relations at home were

very indignant--one sterling friend of mine was most energetic in her

efforts to see me righted, and on one occasion attacked a great man in

authority so strongly that at length he rose, exclaiming,

‘Duchess, I can remain no longer. I sit on a Board at two o’clock.’

‘Well,’ said her grace, ‘I can only hope that it may be a _very hard

one_.’

CHAPTER V.

THE PUNJAUB.

SENT TUMBLING INTO A DITCH--SIR HOUSTON

STEWART--ORDERED TO ENGLAND--FEARFUL ACCIDENT ON H.M.S.

BELLEISLE--LISBON--CHOLERA--A MAGNIFICENT REGIMENT--THE

‘ULYSSES’--A SCOTCH CAPTAIN--A LONG FAREWELL TO ENGLAND--CAPE

PIGEONS--THE ALBATROSS--ARRIVAL IN INDIA--PERPLEXING

NEWS--OUR POSITION IN INDIA--SERVANTS--ORDERED TO THE

PUNJAUB--AGRA--INSTALLATION OF THE STAR OF INDIA--SHOWERS OF

METEORS--DURBAR.

CHAPTER V.

During the siege of Sebastopol, the Connaught Rangers formed one of

the left brigade, light division, the other regiments being the 19th

and 77th. There was an officer belonging to the 19th who was a pure

Scotchman. On being asked why he joined such a thoroughly English

regiment as the 19th, he gave as his reason that his father was very

old and his writing not distinct, and he had applied for his son to be

appointed to the 79th Highlanders, but he had made the 7 so like a 1

that the authorities had gazetted him to the 19th.

When the final attack was made upon Sebastopol, the light division

formed the storming party and supports. After running across the

intervening ground between the trenches and the Redan, two hundred and

eighty yards, and getting into the ditch and up on to the salient of

the Redan, a check took place, and officers and men got no further.

Some time elapsed, all the ammunition was expended, and no more was

to be got. The Russians soon found this out, and charged us. The

consequence was we were all sent tumbling over into the ditch which

we had previously crossed. I fell flat among some poor fellows who

never rose again, and my feelings of disgust were great when the

above-mentioned officer put his foot--like a fiddle-case--in the centre

of my back, and made use of me as a stepping-stone to get out of the

ditch. I got out some way or other, and found myself, with many others,

hurrying to our trenches, where I arrived in a very tattered condition.

The first officer I met was my Scotch friend, who appeared greatly

surprised to see me, and greeted me warmly, saying,

‘Maxwell! is that you? I thought you were dead. Have a drink,’

producing a flask, at which I was delighted to have a pull.

The siege was over, another winter had passed in luxury compared

with the one that had gone before, summer was coming again, and the

Sebastopol heights were clothed with flowers, which hid both shot and

shell beneath their green leaves. Peace was made, and we were all

dreaming of home.

I was paying a visit to Sir Houston Stewart, in his flagship, the

_Hannibal_, commanded by my old friend, Sir John Hay. We had a

most pleasant party, among whom was Sir Henry Bernard, a genial and

agreeable companion. He now lies in his grave in front of Delhi. A

man-of-war, the _Belleisle_, was reported as having arrived, and

it was decided that the 88th Regiment should return to England in her.

I was ordered to telegraph to the regiment, and next day they embarked.

We were all in the greatest spirits. I bid adieu to the kind admiral

and all friends in the _Hannibal_, and proceeded on board the

_Belleisle_. A fatigue party of the regiment was engaged at the

capstan when a fearful accident happened. I cannot tell what the cause

of it was, but I believe the man who watched the chain neglected his

duty. I can only state, however, what occurred. All of a sudden the

chain ran out with great velocity, round went the capstan, and out

flew the bars like porcupine quills. I was standing on the poop, and

one of the capstan bars hit me on the face and marked me for life;

but, far worse, a soldier, named Burke, who had been all through the

siege, was killed outright. Another man had his leg broken, and others

were wounded severely. Sir Houston Stewart telegraphed home that the

accident had occurred, and that I was all right. I am glad he did so,

for my brother had received the telegram, before he read in a Scotch

paper that I was killed.

As we sailed away from Kamiesch Bay the _Hannibal_ manned the

yards, and the officers and men of the Connaught Rangers loudly cheered

farewell as we left the shores of the Crimea for ever. We were towed by

H.M.S. _Firebrand_, commanded by a most agreeable officer, Captain

the Honourable Spencer, whom it has never been my fortune to meet since

those days.

The _Firebrand_ remained with us till we arrived at the coast of

Portugal, when she left us, owing to cholera being very bad on board

her. We touched at Malta and Gibraltar, and anchored at the mouth

of the Tagus. As cholera was raging at Lisbon, we were not allowed

to land, but Captain Hoskins, our commander, asked me to accompany

him in a sail in the cutter to Belem and Lisbon. We paid a visit to

a man-of-war lying off the latter place, and met a young artillery

officer on his way home from the Crimea. He was in great spirits, and

had a dog he had brought with him from Sebastopol. He wanted me to land

at Lisbon, and laughed a good deal when I informed him that we were

not allowed to do so, owing to the prevalence of cholera. He said he

had been often in the town, and was always quite well. We returned,

however, to the _Belleisle_ without landing.

Next morning, before putting to sea, Captain Hoskins received some

letters from Lisbon, and startled us very much when he announced the

death from cholera of that young officer we had met the day before. In

process of time we arrived at Portsmouth. It was home-like to see once

more the gay yachts skimming about between Cowes and Ryde; for it was

the summer season. We landed, and were ordered to Aldershot, where we

had the honour of parading before Her Majesty the Queen--two thousand

strong. What a grand regiment might have been picked out of these

splendid men! but most of them were discharged. The Indian Mutiny then

broke out, but the best part of these warriors had been sent out of the

service, and we bitterly felt their loss.

We came home in July, 1856, and in July, 1857, the Connaught Rangers

embarked for India in course of relief.

When the 88th went out to India in 1857, as before mentioned, it was

for the usual relief, and not in consequence of the mutiny; for, when

we left the shores of Britain on the 9th of July, the terrible facts of

the insurrection were unknown to us. I was in command of the left wing,

which embarked at Portsmouth on board the good ship _Ulysses_,

to proceed round the Cape to Calcutta. The _Ulysses_ was a fine

sailing vessel, chartered by Government to carry troops; her usual

passengers being emigrants. The captain was a worthy Scotchman, but

his ideas of comfort were limited. The morning we embarked, my brother

having come to see me off, I asked him to breakfast on board. There was

bread, and tea, and a bowl of boiled eggs, but no milk or butter. My

brother took an egg and broke the shell, it was bad; he took another,

it was worse; so he gave it up as a bad job, but the captain encouraged

him to go on by saying, ‘Crack awa, crack awa, ye’ll soon come to a

good yin.’ I was obliged to make a report to the proper authorities,

and the worthy man was enlightened as to the fact that officers of

Her Majesty’s regiments in those days were not to be treated like

emigrants; and for the future we were fed in a cleaner and more

wholesome manner. At Spithead we bade adieu to relations, friends, and

acquaintances. And thirteen years passed away before I again looked

upon the fair Isle of Wight and England’s shores.

Our honest skipper, although quite unaccustomed to deal with gentlemen

passengers, was a very kindly man. Evidently, in his former voyages, he

had seen many a disagreeable quarrel among his emigrants, for he was

very much afraid of any unpleasantness occurring. I proposed starting a

newspaper, to be called the _Ulysses Gazette_, which was to come

out every Saturday, in which anyone who pleased might write an article.

The old captain looked alarmed.

‘Ye won’t, colonel, have any pairsonaylities, I hope,’ was his timid

remark.

The _Gazette_ came out, and was a great success. Some of my

brother officers established a school on board, which was well attended

by the men. We had a very good time, and all the officers were most

friendly. I cannot say the same for the soldiers’ wives (there were no

ladies on board), who appealed to me sometimes as colonel on subjects

regarding which my legal knowledge was not sufficient to instruct or

help them.

When our ship came to a certain latitude we were surrounded day and

night by Cape pigeons, graceful, white angels they looked in the pale

moonlight, but most unpleasant birds when brought on board, as they

immediately became vulgarly sick. Albatrosses soared above, and sharks

followed us. When we were in the latitude of the Cape, the sea was the

finest spectacle I ever saw. It ran mountains high, but it was as if

oil had been poured on its surface. Our vessel rose up to the summit of

one of those unbroken hills, and then glided down the other side, just

to rise up again. It was a wonderful sight.

In the month of November we anchored off the Sandheads, having left

England on the 9th of July, and never having sighted land the whole

way till we saw the shores of India. We now received the astounding

intelligence of all the horrors of the mutiny, and the perplexing news

that Delhi was taken. Taken by whom? We had been so long at sea we

knew nothing. In a day or two we landed at Calcutta, and our gallant

ship, which had brought us safely out, was wrecked on her way home.

Fortunately, however, the captain and crew were saved.

When the Connaught Rangers first landed at Calcutta the great shock of

the mutiny was being severely felt. Very few of us knew anything about

the ways of the country, and we were, so to speak, cast adrift in a

foreign land. We had great difficulty in procuring anything. I shall

not enlarge on these troubled times. The generation that lived through

them is passing away, and with them is fading the intense bitterness

that the fearful atrocities of Cawnpore called forth--so utterly

forgotten now that I read books that make high-minded remarks on the

unforgiving spirit that actuated us in those days. It is better to

forget; but the retribution was not too heavy for the crimes committed.

In this country good or bad servants seem a very minor consideration;

not so in India, where comfort is so essentially in the hands of

domestics. One of our greatest difficulties in landing was procuring

any. All the good servants had vanished, and for some time we were

obliged to be satisfied with a very inferior lot. One of my brother

officers got a man called Paul, a miserable little man, who was always

getting drunk. When we marched to Cawnpore after the capture of Calpee,

a great many men of the regiment got fever, and, among other officers,

Paul’s master was very ill. The wretched servant got drunk in the

bazaar, and was made a prisoner--at least, so it was supposed, for he

did not return to his master, and no one knew what had become of him.

Time went on and my brother officer got better, and _pour passer le

temps_ either rode or drove into the town of Cawnpore to look at the

place still stained with the blood of its victims. Either by chance

or from a desire to see the sepoy prisoners, my friend arrived at the

kotwallee or guard-house where these mutineers were incarcerated, and,

to his great dismay, he saw among these ironed rebels a wretched little

man, who shouted: ‘Me Paul! me poor Paul!’ Much surprised, he went to

the kotwal and asked why the man was among the rebels, but could get no

satisfactory reply. On explaining matters that most probably Paul had

been locked up for drunkenness, and not rebellion, he got him released,

as one of the policemen grimly observed, ‘just in time, for he would

have been hanged in to-morrow’s batch.’

Paul left Cawnpore without much delay.

The story of the mutiny has been told over and over again. In time it

was stamped out, but for a long period distant murmurings were still

heard like those of a thunderstorm fading away. Gradually the air

cleared, and Marochetti’s ‘Angel of Peace’ was placed on the Cawnpore

Well. Beautiful flowers began to grow in a garden where once women and

children were dragged to their death, and writers at home began to

publish books to prove that all the horrors, murders, and atrocities

were caused by the fault of the white inhabitants of India. So I pass

over that sad and nearly forgotten time, and, leaping over several

years, come to the year 1860, when the 88th Connaught Rangers proceeded

to the Punjaub.

In the autumn of 1866 the Connaught Rangers, which I had then the

honour to command, was ordered to proceed from Cawnpore, where we had

been stationed for some time, to Rawul Pindee in the Punjaub. We were

directed to halt, on our way up country, at Agra, to form part of a

large camp there, to be assembled for the grand durbar to be held

in honour of the installation of the Star of India. All the rajahs,

princes, and begums of the empire were to be present, to meet Lord

Lawrence, governor-general.

On our arrival at Agra, we found a very large force collected. We were

nearly all under canvas, and so also were the princes of India, with

their numerous retinues. The governor-general came into Agra the day

after our arrival there, and from that hour the cannons of the fort

and batteries had a hard time of it. As every prince went to wait on

the viceroy a salute was fired, and, according to the number of rounds

fired, we inferred the rank of the great man who sallied forth to cross

the plain, followed by his marvellous suite of elephants, carrying

gorgeously mounted howdahs, warriors riding on prancing pink-nosed

horses, with tails and legs deeply dyed with red, to represent the

blood of their enemies, down to the tag-rag and bobtail that are

inseparable from the courts of those native princes.

The durbar was a magnificent sight. There we saw gathered together most

of the great powers of India; the Begum of Bhopaul, our steady friend,

men that had done us good service during our evil times, and others who

had done us as little as they could. All had been rewarded, as far as

possible, according to their works. Each noble vied with his neighbour

in the number and beauty of his ornaments, and the rays of the sun

blazed on priceless jewels.

But our stay at Agra was not a period of idleness. Reviews and sham

battles kept the troops occupied from hour to hour. I had command of

a brigade, and often left my tent before the dawn, when night still

darkened all around, and the stars alone lit up the sky. It was during

the month of November, and the fall of meteors was constantly to be

seen; their appearance as they fell in dazzling brightness being most

startling and sublime. From all parts of the compass they came. First a

long stream of light, which reminded me of the ‘bouquets’ the Russians

sent us during the siege of Sebastopol, and then a ball of fire, which

burst like a rocket, leaving all in darkness again. And so it continued

till the sun rose in its splendour, and the air became full of noisy

life.

As a variety to our military morning work, there were various large

dinners, given by the governor-general and the commander-in-chief.

There were dances also. The Rajah of Jeypore entertained us all at a

splendid ball, and Scindia illuminated the Taj. We should have enjoyed

our halt at Agra very much had not that dreadful curse, cholera,

invaded the camp, and caused the loss of several valuable lives. One

night my wife alarmed me by assuring me that she felt very ill. The

medicine-chest was in our other large tent, where my wife’s maid slept,

at some distance from the one we were occupying. I got hold of my

bearer, and, writing a note, dispatched him with it to M’Kay, the maid.

After some delay, she appeared, very lightly clad, with my note in

her hand, saying, ‘A man had come a long way with this, and wanted the

colonel to get it at once.’ Her knowledge of Hindostani was limited,

and she had not recognised the bearer.

CHAPTER VI.

DELHI.

BY TRAIN TO DELHI--THE RAILWAY STATION IN 1866--BRIDGE OF

BOATS--PALACE OF DELHI--THE JUMNA--MUSJID--REMINISCENCES

OF DELHI--VALUABLE COPY OF THE KORAN--AUTOBIOGRAPHY

OF SULTAN BABER--MAUSOLEUM OF SUFTER JUNG--MARCH

IN COLD WEATHER--LUXURIOUS TENTS--SOLDIERS’ WIVES

IN INDIA--KURNAL--GOVERNMENT STUD--CHRISTMAS IN

INDIA--UMBALLAH--TREMENDOUS STORM--UMRITSUR--MARCH INTO RAWUL

PINDEE.

CHAPTER VI.