were more eager for plunder than slaughter, and Madame Ladoinski fled
along the river bank with her child pressed to her bosom. She had no
idea of what to do, and for a time she escaped molestation. Then she
decided to make an attempt to struggle through the river. She knew
that there was very little probability of her being able to reach the
other side, but it would be better for her and her little son to die
than to fall into the hands of the semi-savage Cossacks. Tying her boy
to her, so that the fate of one might be the other's, she approached
the water; but on the brink she was seized by a Russian. Terrified,
she screamed for help, and it was fortunate that she did so, for the
remnants of the Polish Lancers--last to cease fighting the
Russians--were entering the river not many yards away, and Captain
Ladoinski heard her cries. Calling to his men to come back, he urged
his horse up the bank, and galloped along the riverside until he came
to his wife and child. The Russian fled at the approach of the Polish
Lancers, and Captain Ladoinski lifted his wife and child on to his
horse without recognising them. Then quickly he put his horse to the
river, and soon they were plunging through it with the water sometimes
more than half over them, and musket balls lashing the river around
them.
Madame Ladoinski had recognised her husband the instant he placed her
before him on his horse, and, overcome with joy, she had swooned before
she could utter a word. He remained quite unconscious of whom he had
rescued until, in mid-stream, the shawl which had been over his wife's
head and shoulders slipped and disclosed her face. Joy did not cause
the Polish captain to lose his wits, but made him more careful of his
precious burden. He had been in a reckless mood, courting death in
fact, during the last quarter of an hour of the fight, but now he was
anxious to live. It would indeed be sad, he thought, if now, when
safety was almost reached, a shot should lay him, or still worse, his
wife, low. But on through danger the brave horse struggled with his
heavy load, and soon Captain Ladoinski was able to place his wife and
son on dry land, and to give them the warmth and food which they sadly
needed.
Then when Madame Ladoinski had recovered from the excitement of again
meeting her husband, he told her that he had long since been assured
that both she and their boy were dead. He, as the wagon-drivers had
sworn, had been thrown out of the wagon for dead, but some of his men
came along soon after, and seeing him lying in the snow dismounted to
see if he were alive. Finding that his heart was beating, they set to
work and restored him to consciousness, and then took him on to
Smolensk, whence he sent back to enquire after his wife and child. The
message that was brought to him was that his wife and child had been
murdered on the road. Believing this to be true, he went on with his
regiment--before they arrived at Smolensk--with henceforth only one aim
in life--to avenge Poland's wrongs.
The story of Captain Ladoinski's extraordinary rescue of his own wife
and child created some excitement among Napoleon's soldiers, dispirited
though they were by the terrible march they had undergone, and numerous
and hearty were the congratulations which husband and wife received.
Prince Eugene was one of the first to congratulate them, and Captain
Ladoinski seized the opportunity to express his deep gratitude to the
prince for the kindness he had shown to his wife in her sorrow, a
kindness that was all the more creditable because Prince Eugene knew
that Madame Ladoinski was a member of a Royalist family and an enemy of
the Napoleonic dynasty. For some considerable time after the terrible
retreat from Moscow, Captain Ladoinski fought in Prince Eugene's army,
but when, at last, the Prince's military career came to an end he
retired into private life. He had long since come to the conclusion
that his wife was right when she said that Napoleon never had any
intention of setting Poland free, but had obtained the services of the
brave Poles under false pretences.
Madame Ladoinski deserved years of happy domestic life after her
fearful experiences with the French army, and it is pleasant to be able
to say that she had them. Until death parted them, many years later,
she and her husband enjoyed the happiness of a quiet life unclouded by
domestic or political troubles.
LADY SALE AND AN AFGHAN CAPTIVITY
'Fighting Bob' was the nickname affectionately bestowed upon Sir Robert
Sale by his comrades-in-arms. Truly the name was well deserved, for
wherever the fight was thickest there Sale was to be found, and the
histories of his life abound with stories of his bravery and disregard
of danger.
When twenty-seven years of age he married Florentia Wynch, a girl of
nineteen, who proved before long to be almost as brave as he.
Throughout his life she was his companion in danger, and many times
nursed him back to health when seriously wounded. Adventures such as
are rarely encountered by women were continually falling to her lot,
but the greatest hardships which she was compelled to undergo were
those attending the British retreat from Kabul in January, 1842.
Discontent with British rule had led to rebellion in Afghanistan, and
Sir Robert Sale was sent with a brigade to clear the passes to
Jelalabad. Lady Sale remained at Kabul, where the signs of discontent
became daily more evident. The British native troops were
disheartened, and eventually it was decided to retreat from the city.
At half-past nine in the morning of January 6, 1842, the British force,
consisting of about 4500 soldiers, mostly native, and 12,000 followers,
quitted Kabul. The snow lay a foot deep on the ground, and the
thermometer registered several degrees below freezing-point. The
bullocks had great difficulty in dragging the guns, and it took two
hours and a half to cover the first mile. This slow rate of progress
was not, however, entirely due to the state of the weather, as some of
the delay was caused by a bridge of boats having to be made across the
Kabul river, which lay about half a mile from the city. The camp
followers refused to cross by any means but a bridge, but Lady Sale and
her daughter, Mrs. Sturt, rode through with the horsemen. Immediately
they reached the opposite bank their clothes froze stiff, and they
could not change them for others, for as the rear-guard quitted the
city the Afghans fired upon them and captured, without meeting any
resistance, nearly the whole of the baggage, commissariat and
ammunition. That night the British force, cold, hungry and dispirited,
slept in the snow. There were no tents, but an officer erected a small
pall over the hole in the snow where Lady Sale and her daughter lay.
At half-past seven on the following morning the march was resumed, but
the force had not proceeded far when a party of Afghans sallied out
from a small fort and carried off three guns. The British fought
bravely, but the sepoys made scarcely any resistance, and hundreds of
them fled for their lives.
As the British force advanced they saw the Afghans gathering in
strength on either side, and before they had gone five miles they were
compelled to spike and abandon two six-pounders, the horses not having
sufficient strength to drag them. They were now in possession of only
two guns and very little ammunition.
Men, hungry and numbed with cold, dropped out of the ranks, to be left
to die from starvation, or to be massacred by the enemy. Another night
was spent in the open, and when daylight came there were many frozen
corpses lying on the ground. The troops were now utterly disorganised,
and the Afghans continued to harass them, both while bivouacing and on
the march. It was a terrible time, but Lady Sale was calm, and
endeavoured to instil with courage other women of the party. Soon the
British arrived at a spot where, some time previously, Sir Robert Sale
had been wounded, and there a fierce attack was made upon them. A ball
entered Lady Sales' arm, her clothes were riddled with bullets, and her
escape seemed impossible, so fierce was the fire of the enemy, who were
in a strong position about fifty yards distant. Nevertheless she did
escape, but only to find that her daughter's husband, Lieutenant Sturt,
had been mortally wounded. Five hundred soldiers and two thousand five
hundred camp followers were killed, and many women and children were
carried off by the Afghans. Others lay dying in the fast-falling snow.
Lady Sale and her daughter were in great distress at the death of
Lieutenant Sturt, and took little interest in the proposal that all the
women should be placed under the protection of Mahommed Akbar Khan, who
had suggested this step. However, with the other women, they accepted
the proffered protection, and were taken to a fort in the Khurd Kabul,
and eventually they heard that the force with which they had quitted
Kabul had been annihilated.
On January 17, Lady Sale and her companions, among whom were now
several British officers whom Mahommed Akbar Khan had captured, arrived
at Badiabad, where, in a small mud fort the party, consisting of 9
women, 20 men and 14 children, were kept prisoners. However, they were
not molested, and as food of a kind was supplied to them, they did not
complain. Their uncomfortable surroundings were, however, made more
unpleasant by a series of earthquakes.
On February 19, Lady Sale was spreading some clothes out to dry on the
flat roof of the fort, when a terrible shock occurred, causing the
place to collapse. Lady Sale fell with the building, but rose from the
ruins unhurt. Even the wounds received by her on the day Lieutenant
Sturt was killed were not aggravated by the accident. Before dark that
day there were twenty-five distinct shocks, and about fifteen more
during the night. For some weeks after this they were constantly
occurring. At one spot, not far away, 120 Afghans and 20 Hindus were
buried in the ruins of buildings shaken to the ground.
During her captivity Lady Sale had been able to write letters to her
husband, who was shut up with his garrison in Jelalabad, and her great
desire was that he should be able to hold the place until relief
arrived. On March 15 a rumour reached her that it had been captured by
the Afghans, but to her great delight she heard later that the rumour
was false. She was exceedingly proud of her husband, and gloried in
his successes. A successful defence of the city would, she knew, add
considerably to his reputation. During the following five months Lady
Sale and her daughter were continually being moved from one place to
another, and before long it became clear to them that the Afghan
rebellion was being rapidly quelled. Rumours of British victories
reached them, and the man who was in charge of them, while moving from
place to place, made it understood that for Rs. 20,000 and Rs. 1000 a
month for life he would effect their escape.
But soon, on September 15, the good news was received that the British
were coming to their rescue, and, guided by the bribed Afghan, Lady
Sale and her companions moved off secretly to meet them. Two days
later they arrived at the foot of the Kalu Pass, where they met Sir
Richmond Shakespeare, with 600 native horsemen, coming to their rescue.
Lady Sale was naturally anxious to hear of her husband's doings, and
Sir Richmond Shakespeare was able to make her happy by telling her of
how gallantly he had defended Jelalabad. Soon, however, she heard from
his own lips the story of his defence. On September 19, a horseman
arrived with a message from Sir Robert Sale, saying that he was
advancing with a brigade. Lady Sale had been feeling weak for several
days, but the news of her husband's approach gave her fresh strength.
'It is impossible to express our feelings on Sale's approach,' she
wrote in her diary. 'To my daughter and myself happiness so long
delayed as to be almost unexpected was actually painful, and
accompanied by a choking sensation which could not obtain the relief of
tears.'
The men loudly cheered Lady Sale and her daughter, and pressed forward
to express their hearty congratulations at their escape. 'And then,'
Lady Sale continued in her diary, 'my highly-wrought feelings found the
desired relief; and I could scarcely speak to thank the soldiers for
their sympathy, whilst the long withheld tears now found their course.
On arriving at the camp, Captain Backhouse fired a royal salute from
his mountain train guns; and not only our old friends, but all the
officers in the party, came to offer congratulations and welcome our
return from captivity.'
After a visit to England, Sir Robert and Lady Sale returned to India in
March, 1844. Towards the end of the following year the Sikh War broke
out, and at the battle of Mudki, fought on December 18, Sir Robert's
left thigh was shattered by a grape shot, and he died three days later.
Lady Sale continued to reside in India after her husband's death, her
comfort secured by a pension of L500 a year, granted to her by Queen
Victoria, as a mark of approbation of her own and Sir Robert's conduct.
She died at Cape Town, which she was visiting for the benefit of her
health, on July 6, 1853, aged sixty-three.
ETHEL ST. CLAIR GRIMWOOD,
AND THE ESCAPE FROM MANIPUR
Until late in the last century it was a common thing for the ruler of a
native Eastern state to celebrate his accession to the throne by
slaughtering his brothers and uncles. This drastic measure reduced the
possibilities of the new ruler being deposed, and was considered by the
majority of the natives a wise precaution. The Maharajah of Manipur
was more humane than many rulers, and although he had seven brothers,
he refrained from killing any of them.
For several years the brothers lived on friendly terms with each other,
but eventually quarrels arose through two of them wanting to marry the
same woman. The eight brothers divided into two parties, and
quarrelled so incessantly, that the maharajah deemed it wise to
abdicate and leave the country. Mr. Grimwood the British Political
Agent, did his utmost to dissuade the maharajah from abdicating, but
without success. He departed, and one of his brothers became ruler.
Mr. Grimwood and his wife had lived for three years in Manipur when the
maharajah abdicated, and during that time the natives had always been
friendly towards them. Even the royal brothers, while quarrelling
among themselves, maintained their usual friendly relations with them.
Manipur is an out-of-the-way place, lying in the heart of the
mountainous region, which is bordered on the north by the Assam Valley,
on the east and south by Burma, and on the west by the Cachar district.
During the greater portion of their stay in Manipur Mr. and Mrs.
Grimwood were the only white people in the place, and consequently the
news that the Chief Commissioner was on his way to hold a durbar at the
Residency afforded them much pleasure. But the information that his
excellency was accompanied by 400 men of the 42nd and 44th Ghurkhas,
made it clear that some political event of considerable importance was
about to take place. The Chief Commissioner had, in fact, decided to
arrest the jubraj, the maharajah's brother, at the durbar which was
fixed for eight o'clock in the morning of March 23, 1891.
But the jubraj had his suspicions aroused by the military force which
accompanied the Chief Commissioner. He did not attend the durbar, but
sent a message to say that he was too unwell to be present. Four hours
later, Mr. Grimwood was sent to the palace to inform the jubraj that he
was to be arrested and banished, and to persuade him to surrender
peacefully. This the jubraj refused to do, and consequently it was
decided to storm the palace and capture him.
Fighting began on the following day, shortly before daybreak. The
palace walls, some sixty yards from the Residency, and separated from
it by an unfordable moat, were loop-holed, and soon a fierce fire was
opened on the attackers. Mrs. Grimwood sought shelter in the little
telegraph office, but bullets were soon crashing through it, and her
position was one of extreme danger, but after the first fright she
settled down to help the doctor attend to the wounded.
The British attack on the palace was not, however, successful, and the
Manipuris crept round to the back of the Residency, and made an attack
upon it. They were beaten off, but the British force was soon in a
critical position; for, shortly after 4 o'clock, some big guns opened
fire on the Residency, where the whole of the force was now
concentrated. Mrs. Grimwood states in her book, _My Three Years in
Manipur_, that the first shell fired at the Residency made her
speechless with fear; but others who were present state that a few
minutes later she was hard at work attending to the wounded under fire.
The cellars under the Residency were used as a hospital, and terrible
were the sights which the brave woman witnessed. Every hour the
position of the British became more desperate. Men were falling
quickly, and the ammunition was running out.
At last a message was sent to the jubraj asking on what conditions he
would cease firing on the Residency. His reply was to the effect that
the British must surrender unconditionally. Finding that the British
would not agree to this, he sent word that if the Chief Commissioner
would come to the palace gates he would discuss terms with him. His
excellency and Mr. Grimwood went forward, but as they reached the gates
they were pushed inside the palace enclosure, and the gates closed
behind them. Then the Manipuris shouted that the white men were
prisoners, and again opened fire on the Residency. The British troops
replied, but their position was now critical. Very little ammunition
remained, and shells were bursting over the Residency. One burst near
to Mrs. Grimwood's feet, but fortunately she only received a slight
wound in the arm.
At midnight the British officers decided to evacuate the Residency and
retreat to Cachar.
Mrs. Grimwood being the only person who knew the way to the Cachar
road, acted as guide, and led the retreating force through hedges, over
mud walls, and across a river. Looking back when they had gone four
miles, Mrs. Grimwood saw that the Residency, her home for three happy
years, was in flames. Her husband a prisoner, and her home destroyed,
it would not have been surprising if Mrs. Grimwood had been too
grief-stricken to continue the journey on foot. But she plodded on
bravely in her thin house-shoes, and with her clothes heavy with water.
Sometimes the hills were so steep that she had to climb them on hands
and knees, but she never complained, and did not hamper the progress of
the force. Not until twenty miles had been covered did she have a
rest, and then, thoroughly exhausted, she wrapped herself in the
overcoats which the officers lent her, and lay down and slept.
A few hours later the retreating force, hungry, tired and somewhat
dispirited, resumed its march. Mrs. Grimwood's feet were cut and sore,
but she tramped on bravely in the military boots which had been given
her to replace her thin worn-out shoes. They had now travelled beyond
the country with which Mrs. Grimwood was familiar, and no one knew the
way. They pushed on in the direction which they believed to be the
right one, but without being able to obtain anything to eat. When,
however, they had been two days without food, they came suddenly upon
some Manipuri soldiers cooking rice. The Manipuris, taken by surprise,
fled quickly, leaving their rice to fall into the hands of the starving
British force.
Refreshed by the meal which they had so unexpectedly obtained, the
British resumed their journey, but they had not gone far when they
found a stockade barring their way. The defenders opened fire on them
at once, and as the British had no ammunition they rushed the stockade,
causing the Manipuris to run for their lives.
The British officers now decided to remain for a time in the captured
stockade, but soon a large body of men was seen advancing towards it.
Were they Ghurkhas or Manipuris? No one could tell, and reliance could
not be placed on a bugle call, as both Ghurkhas and Manipuris had the
same one. It was believed by the majority that the advancing men were
Manipuris, and one of the officers told Mrs. Grimwood that he had two
cartridges left, one for her and one for himself, if the men proved to
be the enemy.
But they were not the enemy. A sharp-eyed man discovered a white
officer among the advancing soldiers, and this was ample proof that
they were Ghurkhas. A cheer from the stockade was answered by one from
the approaching men, who were proceeding to Manipur, but had only heard
a few hours before of the retreat of their comrades-in-arms. They had
plenty of provisions with them, and quickly gave the tired, hungry men
a good meal.
The remainder of the journey to the frontier was made in comparative
comfort, but Mrs. Grimwood's trials were not yet ended. Soon the sad
news of her husband's death was broken to her. He and his fellow
prisoner had been executed with horrible brutality by order of the
jubraj.
The story of Mrs. Grimwood's heroism in attending to the wounded under
fire, and her bravery during the long and trying retreat, aroused
admiration throughout the civilized world. In consideration of her
exceptional services, the Secretary of State for India in Council
awarded her a pension of L140 a year, and a special grant of L1000.
The Princess of Wales--our present Queen--was exceedingly kind to her,
and Queen Victoria invited her to Windsor Castle, and decorated her
with the well-deserved Red Cross.
THREE SOLDIERS' WIVES IN SOUTH AFRICA
In December, 1880, a detachment of the 2nd Connaught Rangers was
escorting a wagon-train, nearly a mile in length, from Leydenberg to
Pretoria. Until more than half the journey had been travelled the
Boers, whom the British met on the way, had shown no disposition to be
unfriendly, but, one morning, as the convoy slowly wended its way up a
hill, studded with clumps of trees, a strong force of Boers jumped out
from their places of concealment and called upon the British to
surrender. They sent forward, under a flag of truce, a written demand
to that effect, but, seeing that the British officer in command had no
intention to order his men to lay down their arms, they treacherously
disregarded the white flag that was flying, and opened fire upon the
convoy.
The British were caught in an ambush, and the Boers, who greatly
outnumbered them, wrought terrible havoc. The Boers were concealed
behind trees and stones, but the British could obtain scarcely any
cover. Their colonel was mortally wounded early in the fight, and soon
there was only one officer unhurt.
When the attack on the convoy began there were three women in one of
the wagons. Mrs. Marion Smith, widow of the late bandmaster, was
travelling down country, with her two children, to sail on a troopship
for England. The other two women were Mrs. Fox, wife of the
sergeant-major, and Mrs. Maistre, wife of the orderly-room clerk.
Scarcely had the massacre begun when Mrs. Fox received a bullet wound
as she sat in the wagon, and fell backwards, badly hurt.
Mrs. Smith and Mrs. Maistre were naturally alarmed at finding
themselves suddenly in a position of such great danger. But they were
soldiers' wives, and soon all fear vanished, and having made Mrs.
Smith's children comparatively safe in a corner of the wagon they
stepped out to render aid to the wounded. It was a terrible sight for
them. The ground was strewn with dead and dying, and nearly every face
was familiar to them. Regardless of the bullets that whizzed past
them--one grazed Mrs. Smith's ear they tore up sheets to make bandages,
and passing from one wounded man to another, stanched the flow of blood
and bound the wounds.
At last, when it became clear to the mortally wounded colonel that the
annihilation of his force would be the result of a continuation of the
fight, the 'Cease fire' was sounded, and the outnumbered British
delivered up their arms.
The soldiers' work was finished; Mrs. Smith and Mrs. Maistre had still
much to do. On the battle-field the wounded lay thick, and for hours
the two brave women worked at their self-appointed task. Many a dying
lad had his last minutes made happy by their kindly words and actions.
From December 20 until March 31, 1881, the three women remained
prisoners in the hands of the Boers. They might, had they cared to do
so, have led lives of idleness during their imprisonment, but, instead,
they were busy from morning until night nursing the wounded. Mrs.
Fox's courage was indeed wonderful, for the wound she had received in
the attack was very serious, and the doctors had told her that she
could not expect to live long. Her husband, too, had been severely
wounded early in the fight, but nevertheless she was as indefatigable
as Mrs. Maistre and Mrs. Smith in doing good. The three women were
adored by the wounded soldiers, for whom they wrote letters home,
prepared dainty food, and read.