Everything that was cast in from the wreck was carefully brought on

shore and stored up. By Joe's orders, we placed a spare topmast on

an eminence, with a blanket, as a flag, attached thereto, and a

regular watch was told off beside it, to signal any passing vessel.

Rude shelters of stones were set up for weak or ailing men among us;

Joe divided us into messes, and made arrangements for the

distribution of the birds, the eggs, and all else that was in our

general stock.

We required a moving and ruling spirit, and Joe took that place.

By his orders we utilised the preserved meat-tins as cooking vessels,

and by partaking of certain coarse herbs and wild grasses, boiled

therein, we averted all danger of scurvy.

For fuel we had at first the broken driftwood that came from the

wreck; but this was soon, with all our care, expended, and the cold

would perhaps have destroyed us, had not the indefatigable Joe

discovered that we could make fires of the bones and skins of the

seafowl; and Joe, who was a well-read Scotsman, told us all how Dr.

Livingstone once fed the fires of his steam-boat on the Rovuma River

with elephants' ribs.

The success of our plan, to feed fires with the legs of albatrosses,

gulls, and kittiwakes, for the many months that we did, proves the

vast number we must have caught; but weary indeed were we of this

daily menu of eggs and oily sea-bird flesh, seasoned with salt

obtained from the surf where it dried on the rocks.

I shall never forget the great horror that fell on us, when one of

our little band died of a fatal gangrene, having injured his foot by

a fall; and as we buried him in the sea came the dread question, if

we were all fated to perish in succession, who among us would be the

_last_ and lonely man upon that rocky isle?

Save for the lucky accident that several among us had match-boxes in

their pockets when quitting the wreck, we could never have lighted a

fire! As the ship broke up, various things came ashore; among

others, a passenger's chest, wherein we found some blankets, knives,

and spoons.

So passed away August and September, and all this dreary time, a keen

look-out was kept from the first break of dawn to the last glimpse of

sunset for any passing sail, as life depended upon rescue. We often

marvelled whether any vessel ever passed in the night, as we had no

fiery beacon to attract attention.

Finding themselves preyed upon, the sea-birds became wilder, and food

grew scarce. It is easy to imagine the agony in which, with haggard

eyes and wildly beating hearts, we twice saw the sails of passing

ships; but they were 'hull down,' at a vast distance, and could not

see our despairing signals.

At length there came a day--oh, never, never shall I or any who were

with me then forget it!

The morning broke warm, fine, and sunny, and a shout came from the

watch at the beacon, that 'a ship was close in shore!'

We started up from the shelter where we were sleeping. We could

scarcely believe our eyes, as with prayerful hearts we stretched out

our hands simultaneously and in silence towards her.

Yes--yes! there she was, little more than a mile distant, a gallant

brig of considerable burden, with her courses, topsails, and

top-gallant-sails set, close hauled on the port tack, on a gentle

breeze.

We were incapable of shouting or cheering, so great was our emotion,

and many of us burst into tears when we saw the sheets let fly and

the fore-yard thrown in the wind, while, as an additional token that

we were seen and that succour was coming, the Stars and Stripes of

America were run up to the gaff-peak, and a boat was instantly

lowered and manned.

She proved to be the _President_, whaler, who, fishing in that lonely

sea, had by chance come near the isle, where her morning watch had at

dawn seen the fragment of our tattered blanket waving in the wind.

We were speedily taken off, after having spent--as a tally kept by

Joe Rudderford showed--exactly one hundred and fifty-nine days (a

little more than five months) on an isle of the Crozets; and, with

one accord, we all stood bareheaded, and thanked God for all His

goodness to us, when we found ourselves safe on the deck of the

American.

Her captain made us all welcome and comfortable; but as we were what

he called 'a tight fit' on board, with his own ample crew, he landed

us at the Cape of Good Hope. There I parted company with Joe

Rudderford and his brother, who shipped on board a Scotch clipper to

return to their own home, while I, with the rest of the survivors,

came back by a passenger steamer to London, and found that my people

had long since given me up as dead.

[Illustration: Chapter 6 headpiece]

A TALE

OF THE

RETREAT FROM CABUL

[Illustration: Chapter 6 tailpiece]

A TALE OF THE RETREAT FROM CABUL.

'In the month of October--I won't mention the year, it seems so long

ago--my then regiment, the gallant old 13th Light Infantry, with the

rest of Her Majesty's troops who had the ill-luck to accompany us,

were in the cantonments of Cabul.

'I can see them yet, in memory, on the plain in front of the mountain

city, enclosed by walls and hedges, and bordered by those pretty

villas which, in their perfect confidence in the people, among whom

we had come to replace Shah Sujah on his throne, our officers had

built for themselves and families; on one hand the hills of the Siah

Sung, on the other the haunted heights of Beymaroo, for it was

affirmed that a demon of some kind did haunt them, and in the

distance the city of Cabul, with its walls and streets of sun-dried

bricks, the towering outline of its Balahissar, and in the background

far away the summit of the Hindoo Kush, mantled with snows that never

melt.

'When not on duty, or when I could not hope to meet Mabel--Mabel

Berriedale, of whom more anon--I was fond of wandering about with my

gun among the Siah Sung hills, and even into the Khyber Pass, in

search of the _hill-chuckore_ or Greek partridge, wild ducks, and

quails, though frequently warned by Vassal Holland, a brother

officer, who chummed with me in the same bungalow--and once, to my

delight, by Mabel herself--that it was unsafe, because ugly rumours

were afloat, rumours of which she heard more than we did, as her

father was on the headquarter staff--that it was both unsafe and

unwise to do so, as a rising of the tribes against us was almost

daily expected.

'What took us there? you may ask. Well, the same interest that may

take us there again. With the view of frustrating the presumed

designs of Russia, and securing as far as practicable the integrity

of Afghanistan as a barrier against the aggressive attempts of that

ever-grasping power, the Indian government resolved on the

restoration of the Shah Sujah, a cruel and merciless old prince, who,

after blinding with his own dagger his kinsman Futteh Khan, had been

exiled. We replaced him on the throne with an army of 8,000 wild

Beloochees to guard it, under the Shah Zadah Timour and Colonel

Simpson of the Company's service; but he soon excited again universal

hatred and dislike among the fierce Afghan clans, who viewed us

resentfully as unbelieving intruders. Thus the slender British force

of 4,000 strong, which as allies occupied the cantonments I have

mentioned, was in a perilous predicament--a very trap as it were, for

between them and lower India lay savage passes, manned by hardy and

warlike tribes, and everywhere the coming storm grew darker as the

unwelcome Shah proceeded from one act of violence to another; while

his retention of a corps of Sikhs--the enemies by blood and religion

of the Afghans--as a body-guard, roused all their rancour against

him, and against us, whose commander was General Elphinstone, a

feeble, ailing, and incapable old man.

'Such was the state of matters when Holland warned me of my rashness,

and more than once declined to accompany me, and one day I certainly

had an adventure--not an exciting one--but one which I never forgot,

owing to subsequent events connected with it.

'Though October, the weather was fine and clear, for there, after

February, there is only hoar-frost in the mornings usually, till the

middle of March. Our band had been playing at the usual promenade in

the cantonments, but I had quitted early; Mabel, whom I loved very

dearly, but to whom I had, as yet, said nothing of that love, had, I

thought, treated me coldly, so I took my gun in a pet, and went forth

among the mountains, penetrating into one of the deep sheltered glens

that open off the Khyber Pass.

'Either the birds were shy, or I was preoccupied; I saw only here and

there a solitary crow and stork till I came to a little ravine, in

which stood a Khyber tent of black blanket, with a large stone at

each corner to prevent it being blown away. Its door, a mere mat of

reeds, was open, and there came forth a pretty young Afghan woman--a

wife, as I could see by her hair being braided and her trousers of

some dark stuff; and though evidently but the spouse of some wild

hill-man, she wore strings of Venetian sequins, and chains of gold

and silver. She was fair and handsome too, though her nose was very

aquiline, and her cheekbones rather prominent. As she proceeded to

feed a Cabul pony, from a gathered heap of juicy herbage, I was just

thinking what a pretty sketch the little tableau beneath me would

make, when it received one or two rather startling accessions.

'Out of a grove of wild mulberry-trees, all unseen by her, there came

creeping slowly, stealthily, with cat-like action, and velvety paws,

an enormous black wolf. I could, from the perch where I stood,

distinctly see the hungry gleam of its eyes, its scarlet mouth half

open, and the steam from its nostrils.

'At the same moment on the other side of the narrow ravine, there

appeared a Khyberee, as his yellow turban and shaggy robe of camel's

hair announced--a tall, strong and stately fellow, armed with his

long juzail or native rifle, the lighted match of which was smoking.

On his knee he took a steady aim at the wolf, but missed fire.

'A cry of rage and fury escaped him, but it mingled with the report

of my unfailing double-barrelled Purdey, and struck by two balls just

behind the ear, the wolf fell over on its back and pawed the air, in

the agonies of death, while the Khyberee woman fled into her tent,

and her husband, for such the stranger proved to be, came to me full

of gratitude.

'"Sahib, from my soul I thank you," said he in Afghani, of which I

had picked up a smattering. "You have saved my tent from a dreadful

calamity, enter it; from this moment you are the brother of Zemaun

Khan."

'For though but a poor hill-man he deemed himself a Khan, and in

evidence of his position in his clan, as being what a Scots

Highlander would call a _dunniewassal_, he carried a falcon on his

left wrist. He led me within his tent, where I was in turn

gratefully thanked by his pretty young wife, for though the Afghans

do not, like other Mohammedan races, universally shut up their women,

they are as open to jealousy as other orientals, and at Cabul

frequently resented the attention our fellows paid them--and this

added to those errors for which the army of Elphinstone had to atone

so terribly. A snowstorm came on, and thus I passed the night in the

tent of Zemaun Khan, who would by no means let me depart.

'"You are welcome," said he, as his wife placed before us food and a

jar of native wine, though neither would partake of it, "for in the

fashion you have come, a stranger is a holy name."

'"And yet," said I, smiling, "we Feringhees fear you like us little."

'"Little indeed!" said he, as his brow grew dark, "Sahib, I have seen

and known your people--seen them at their manly sports in the

cantonments yonder; seen the wonderful boat that Sinclair Sahib

launched upon the Lake of Istaliff, and the flying shoes he used

thereon when ice covered the standing water,' he continued, referring

to a boat which was built, and skates which were made by Willie

Sinclair, an ingenious "sub" of ours, to the great wonder of the

Afghans, who had never seen either before. "But what brought you

among our mountains? Individually you English are fine

fellows--noble fellows; but collectively we _hate_ you," he added,

while his eyes and his set teeth seemed to glisten. "Could it be

otherwise with us, who see that you are unbelievers who deem that

Allah is but a name? But you are my guest, let us not talk of these

things. We shall have our pipes of tobacco, and Nourmahal shall take

her saringa and sing us the 'Song of the Rose.'"

'She brought us cherry-stick pipes, obediently assumed her native

guitar, and sang to us, as her lord and master suggested. The night

passed pleasantly, for the tent was in a sheltered spot; and I got up

betimes to return to the cantonment, escorted part of the way by

Zemaun Khan, to whose wife I presented one of the pretty charms that

hung at my watch-chain.

'As we parted within a mile or so of the cantonment gate, he again

expressed his gratitude to me, but said to me impressively, and with

a low earnest voice:

'"If you can quit this place for Candahar or Jellalabad go at

once--go, and go quickly; in three days, perhaps, it may be too late!

The hills will then be alive with men."

'"You say either too much or too little," I exclaimed rather angrily.

'"I have said what I have said. The web of your existence has been

spun of the thread of sorrow, and the sword of the Afghan will rend

it asunder."

'"If a rising of the natives is attempted," said I, "we shall not

leave one stone of yonder Balahissar standing on another."

'"Be it so; but," he added, pointing to the stupendous mountains,

"you cannot destroy these--the fortresses given by God to the

hill-tribes of Afghanistan! And Ackbar Khan has sworn an oath that

your whole host shall perish save _one man_, who will be only spared

to tell the fate of his comrades!"

'I had already heard something of this before, and it had been a

source of laughter, but for a time only, in our mess-bungalow in

Cabul; and that evening, when Vassal Holland and I were discussing my

adventure, through the pleasant medium of brandy-pawnee and Chinsurah

cheroots, he laughed loudly at the threat, like a heedless and

handsome young fellow as he was, and stigmatised Zemaun Khan as "a

melodramatic old donkey! After traversing the Bolan Pass under

Willoughby Cotton, storming Ghuzni, and then taking Cabul, we won't

be so jolly green as to take fright at the Afghans;" adding, "and now

to talk of something else. I may mention that your absence during

the storm last night, and from parade this morning, caused much

speculation in the lines, and, if it is any gratification to you, not

a little in the villa of the Berriedales."

'And he lay back in his long arm-chair, and watched alternately the

rings of smoke from his cheroot as they ascended to the straw roof of

the bungalow, and the expression of my face.

'"Was Mabel indeed interested?" I asked, with heightened colour.

'"More than interested--agitated! but I don't wish to fan the flame,

for I fear it will be no joke to be the husband of such a girl as

Mabel Berriedale."

'"Joke--I should think not, Holland."

'"What then?"

'"A great joy! But to what do your remarks point?"

'"To begin with--her love of dress."

'"Pshaw! every pretty girl has that--and she is lovely!"

'"In her opinion, her father the Colonel--or any father--is only the

medium for supplying luxuries and pleasures, and to act as chaperon,

if nothing more attractive can be had. A husband would soon come to

be viewed in the same light."

'"Pleasures, luxuries!" I exclaimed; "there are deuced few of either

to be had at Cabul. But you, the fortunate, happy, and accepted of

her cousin Bella should not talk thus. You have surely been refused

by her!"

'"Refused?" exclaimed Holland, laughing.

'"Yes," said I angrily.

'"I never asked her, even before I saw Bella; yet many an afternoon I

have enjoyed her society very much."

'"I should think so; she would make a pleasant companion for a longer

period than any Afghan afternoon. You mistake the girl entirely, in

deeming her, as I know you do, vain, trivial, heartless, it may be."

Holland only continued to smoke in silence.

'"To-night at Lady Sale's, I shall put it to the issue, if I can,"

said I.

'"Both will be there."

'"Allow us then to don our war-paint."

'The claw-hammer coat, and waiter-like costume denominated "full

dress," was not then etiquette in India; thus, we both set out in

full uniform for Lady Sale's reception, which, though given so far

away from Western civilisation as the slopes of the Hindoo Kush, was

pretty much like any other. The drawing-room of her villa was made

up as like one at home as possible. The ladies of the garrison, and

of the C.S., had all becoming toilettes, and native servants, in

white turbans, were gliding about with silver salvers of coffee and

wines. A buzz of conversation pervaded the room, and though the band

of "ours," the 13th Light Infantry, discoursed "sweet music" in an

anteroom, the tenour of the conversation, in certain knots that

gathered around the manly and gentle-looking Sir Robert Sale, the

commander-in-chief, General Elphinstone, and the luckless envoy Sir

William Macnaghten, sad and thoughtful in aspect, was the reverse of

lively, for

'"Great events were on the gale,

And each hour told the varying tale."

Dost Mahommed Khan, late ruler of Cabul, was remaining a peaceful

prisoner of the British Government; but Ackbar Khan, the most brave

and reckless of his sons, had preferred a life of independence amid

the wilds of Loodiana, and now he was said to be among the Khyber

mountains, concerting means for the extermination of "the meddling

Feringhees," as he called the British, whom he had vowed to

exterminate, all save ONE MAN!

'All this I had heard so often for some months past, that it somewhat

palled upon my ear now, and I endeavoured to get near Mabel, who was

seated on a sofa immediately under a chandelier, which shed down a

flood of light upon her; and around her and her cousin were a crowd

of gay fellows in all manner of uniforms, cavalry, artillery, and

infantry; thus, I could barely touch her hand, and answer some

questions concerning my adventure in the pass last night, questions

which I saw she asked with dilated eyes, and considerable concern,

when I had to give place to some one else, with whom she plunged at

once into an animated conversation, as if to hide the momentary

interest she had shown in me. This deeply piqued me, all the more as

Vassal, in all the happy confidence of an accepted lover, was

stooping over the pretty head and snowy shoulders of Bella, and

eyeing me from time to time with a provoking smile. Mabel and I were

on awkward terms. Her lover she knew me to be, though I had never

declared myself, for two or three reasons, among the most weighty of

which were monetary expectations from home; thus we had piques and

little jealousies, even fits of coldness, that made our almost daily

intercourse in the limited circle of the Cabul cantonments perilous

work truly.

'Her face was indeed a sweet and winsome one, and once or twice, as a

mass of her golden-brown hair, which her ayah had failed to adjust

properly? fell suddenly about her neck, she gave a petulant shrug of

her white shoulders, while her beautiful hands were upraised to

confine the coils, showing thereby the taper form of her arms and the

contour of her bust and waist, while many a "sub" looked fondly and

admiringly on. Other handsome girls were present, and it was really

something wonderful to see so much fair English beauty there in

Afghanistan, at the very back of the world as it were!

'Her cousin Bella was a soft, yet sparkling little brunette, whose

father had fallen at the storming of Ghuzni; since when she had lived

under the wing and care of her aunt, Mrs. Berriedale.

'To simply eye her admiringly from a distance was not the _rôle_ I

had intended to adopt; but I resolved to wait my opportunity, when

there might be some break in the circle around her, and was passing

into the inner drawing-room, which was nearly empty, when I trod upon

a pocket-book. It was a bijou affair--tiny, scarlet morocco, and

gilt--a lady's evidently. To whom could it belong? I looked round

for Lady Sale, but she had left the room. The owner's name would

doubtless be inside; ere I could think of opening it, the book opened

of itself, where a leaf was turned down, and where I saw--_my own

name_, written more than once, with another added thereto: "Mabel

Clinton--Mrs. Robert Clinton."

'I trembled with astonishment and joy. She had been wondering how

the name would look _written_, and written it was, in her hand, with

which notes of invitation had made me perfectly familiar. I heard

the hum of voices in the next room, the sounds of laughter, and the

crash of the band in the antechamber beyond, as one in a dream, for

the discovery now made was rather a bewildering one.

'That I had a place in her heart, that she was more than interested

in me, and that she linked the idea of me with herself, I would not

doubt, despite her occasional coldness and coquetries with others;

but how was I to use the knowledge so suddenly, so unexpectedly won?

It was alike dangerous to keep or to return the book, though surely

she would never dream that I had opened and read it, but the hand of

Fate had done the former for me; and if thrown aside, it would be

found by others, and become a source of secret joking in the

cantonments, so I source of secret joking in the cantonments, so I

placed it in the breast of my uniform, and seeing her left almost

alone for a moment, hastened to capture her, and offer her my arm,

which she accepted at once, and we proceeded slowly to promenade the

rooms.

'"You have not been near me to-night," said she, fanning herself,

though the air was cool enough.

'"It is so difficult to get near you; you are always the centre of a

circle in whose unmeaning gaiety I have not the heart to join."

'"You scarcely compliment me in saying this," said she, colouring a

little; "I was fond of gaiety, fun, what you will, when in Central

India, and down at Calcutta, but here we have been _triste_ enough.

Cabul is simply horrible!"

'"And I wish, for your sake, and the sake of many others, that we

were well out of it; but it was not of this everyday topic I desired

to speak with you."

'"Of what, then?" she asked in a low voice, though we had now reached

the lower end of the outer drawing-room, where the windows were open

to the floor, and gave access to a veranda filled with flowers, and

the green jalousies enclosing which rendered it a species of corridor.

'My heart beat lightly, and I was on the point of saying something, I

know not what--pretty pointed, however, when, in an evil moment, I

drew forth her pocket-book, and said:

'"Does not this belong to you, Miss Berriedale? your initials are

gilded on the cover."

'"It _is_ mine!" she exclaimed, while blushing deeply, and then

growing deadly pale, as she remembered what she feared I might have

seen, and more, perhaps, that I had not seen; "where did you find

it?" she added with some sharpness of tone.

'"Lying on the floor, yonder, in the other drawing-room."

'"And how long have you had it?" she continued, with an increased

hardness of tone which chilled me.

'"But a few minutes; young ladies should be careful----"

'"Of what?" she inquired haughtily.

'"Miss Berriedale," said I, in agitated voice, and endeavouring to

take her hand; but she eluded me, and even withdrew her arm, saying,

"I must rejoin mamma."

'She rejoined the large group near the chandelier, with her whole

manner and bearing totally changed, while I followed her completely

crestfallen, with the eyes of Vassal Holland upon me, as if inquiring

whether I _had_ put my fate to the issue, and what had come of it.

'A vague sense of having incurred her displeasure at the very moment

when I was about to declare my passionate love for her, oppressed me;

yet, when the time for departure came, and the carriages and palkees

were announced, I hastened to cloak her, but she submitted in grim

silence.

'"Will you pardon me if I have offended you?" I whispered.

'"I have nothing to pardon."

'"Forgive me, then?"

'"I have nothing to forgive."

'"Good-night."

'"Good-night, Mr. Clinton."

'She did not even take my hand, and we parted.

'"What's up, old fellow?" asked Vassal Holland, as we strolled away

to our bungalow in the lines.

'"By Jove, I can't tell you."

'"You've not made your innings, any way?"

'"No," said I sadly and savagely; yet I could have enlightened him as

to the situation, had I chosen, but unless I could have ensured his

silence with regard to Bella, to do so might have made matters worse.

'She loved me, I could not doubt it, But she feared I had _read_ the

secrets of her pocket-book--the dear, stupid words she had written

half in play; and all her maidenly modesty was up in arms, lest I

should take advantage of what I had learned,--that she had given her

heart to a man ere he asked for it, and that if I wooed her now, it

might only be out of compassion or pity, melting into love.

'I could not doubt that, but for the unlucky advent of the

pocket-book, she would have permitted me to love her, and have fully

accepted me, with her uncle's consent; and now--now for days she

avoided me, and began, that was patent to all in the cantonment, a

very deliberate flirtation with my friend Jack Villars, of the Horse

Artillery, a handsome but heedless fellow, whom she had never

distinguished before; and, though I knew not quite why, the life of

us _both_ was embittered. I was indignant that she should think so

meanly of me as to believe me capable of deliberately opening her

pocket-book and prying into her secrets, while she was exasperated at

her own folly in writing what she had written. Had I seen it?

doubtless she asked of herself, and might have remembered that I had

spoken of her "initials;" and perhaps, had I made the most solemn

assertion that the wretched little book had opened of itself, she

might have failed to believe me.

'At last the route came for our regiment, with the rest of Sale's

brigade, to begin the march towards the province of Jellalabad; and I

shall never forget the morning of our departure. We were armed with

old and unserviceable muskets, because our final destination was

Britain, and General Elphinstone, a useless, obstinate, and incapable

old man, said there was no use in taking new arms home. Our men were

to march with their knapsacks, a new feature in Indian warfare; and

the officers reduced their baggage to a minimum, for rumour said the

passes were beset, and the odds were heavy that not a man of us might

live to reach the lower end of them.

'On the cold, dull, cloudy morning of the 10th of October our drums

beat, and all in the cantonments at Cabul turned out to see us

depart. Among other spectators on horseback were Bella and Mabel

Berriedale, with the now inevitable Villars in attendance upon the

latter; and if aught could add to the sorrow, bitterness, and chagrin

of a parting that would be final--as she was to be left behind in

Cabul--it was to behold this!

'After forming my company I drew near her, and made some commonplace

remark, to which she replied in the same tone. I failed to catch the

expression of her face, as a thick Shetland veil was tied over it.

How little could I think that it was concealing tears! Suddenly

Sale's bugler sounded; the adjutant was about to tell off the

battalion. I pressed her hand; she returned the pressure firmly, and

her voice as she said "Good-bye" was utterly broken, and seemed to be

full of tears. I never, never forgot _that_; but this was no time

for explanation. I rushed to join my company, and all that followed

passed like a dream. The brigade was wheeled into line--it broke

into sections--the bands struck up, and the homeward march for

England, as all our fellows fondly hoped, began; and ere long, as we

penetrated into the dark recesses of the mountains, we saw the last

of Cabul and all our companions.

'I had but one thought--that Mabel Berriedale was there, and that I

should never see her again!

'Even the armed clans of Afghans that were seen hovering so

menacingly on the rocks that overhung the passes could not draw my

thoughts from Mabel, the pressure of her beloved hand, and her

tearful voice, when it was too late--all too late!

'The following night some wounded fugitives brought dreadful tidings

to Cabul. Sale's brigade, they asserted, had been attacked in the

passes and literally cut to pieces; how Sale himself and Colonel

Dennie had been wounded, and Lieutenant Clinton of the 13th had been

cut off, with a whole line of skirmishers, by the Khyberees under

Zemaun Khan.

'My poor Mabel fell fainting on Bella's breast when she heard of all

this, and she now for the first time knew, what I knew not, and never

might know, how really dear I was to her. The startling tidings

brought to Cabul were not without some grains of truth.

'Hardy and trained, the 13th, or Prince Albert's Own, marched

speedily and splendidly, setting an example to the rest of the

brigade, and their chorusing merrily woke the echoes of the impending

rocks; but no actual hostility was displayed by the warlike denizens

of these until the troops were fairly entangled in the deepest,

steepest, and most perilous parts of the passes.

'_Then_ the cliffs above us seemed to become suddenly alive with men,

chiefly yellow-turbaned Khyberees, who opened a storm of fire upon us

that told with dreadful effect, strewing the whole tortuous path from

front to rear with killed and wounded. So skilful too were these

Afghans in the art of skirmishing, that save for the red flash of

their matchlocks streaking the gloom, it was impossible to detect

where the marksmen lay. Rocks and simple stones--some not larger

than a 13-inch shell, sufficed to shelter the lurking juzailchee, who

squatted down, showing, if anything, only the long barrel of his

deadly weapon, and the tip of his turban. Then might be seen the

hardihood, and the majesty, with which a British soldier fights!

'Cheerily rang out the bugles of the 13th, for "the leading companies

to extend," and away the skirmishers swept over the precipices,

scouring the terrible hills on the right and left, using the bayonet

wherever an opportunity served; and driving back the wild

mountaineers, till, just as night was closing in, we came in sight of

a mighty barricade of earth, stones and turf, built right across the

narrow pass, for the purpose of cutting off all further passage or

progress.

'Sale, who was suffering acutely from a ball in his leg, gave the

order to storm it, and just as, with a loud cheer, the leading

companies assailed it with a headlong rush, a ball struck me in the

left ankle, and my shako flew off; an invocation to heaven escaped

me, I fell heavily, my head came in contact with the rocks, and

insensibility rendered me oblivious alike of peril and agony, as our

men swept over me to storm the barrier, which they did brilliantly,

fairly opening up a passage to Boothak, and carrying off all their

wounded save me. I had fallen unseen, and in the dark was left

behind, while the flashing and reports of the musketry died out in

the distance.

'Bitter and terrible were my first emotions, when the falling dew

roused me in that savage place; bleeding, helpless, unable to stand

or crawl, a prey it might soon be to Afghan knives, or the teeth of

those wild animals which would soon scent the dead that lay around

me. I was not left long to reflect. I had just bandaged my wounded

limb with my handkerchief, when a party of Afghans passed. One

uttered a hoarse cry, and was about to decapitate me by one slash,

when another interposed, and I found myself the prisoner of Zemaun

Khan.

'"Death to the Feringhee!" cried the astonished Afghans.

'"Hold, I command you!" said Zemaun; "he is my brother."

'"Is he not one of those who would send our chiefs in chains to the

Queen of the Feringhees in London?"

'"He is my brother!"

'By his order I was conveyed, not unkindly, to a solitary round tower

among the mountains, where I remained a prisoner for longer than I

care to remember, with the terrible consciousness that I might be

murdered at any moment of caprice, or kept a life-long captive,

forgotten by all, while Mabel Berriedale became the wife of Jack

Villars, or some one else.

'My adventures after this were so numerous that they would crowd a

three volume novel.

'The ball in my ankle I contrived to snip out myself, nearly fainting

as I did so. I then bound up the wound, which grew well rapidly;

while that in my head was bathed and bandaged tenderly by the deft

little hand of the wife of Zemaun Khan, who was full of pity for, me,

with much of gratitude for the service I had done her, and thus I had

perhaps more of her society than the Khan might have relished; but he

had much wild work to do among the mountains, and it was from her

that I heard of what was doing at Cabul.

'"Sahib, your people will never escape; it will all be as Ackbar has

sworn," said she in her soft Afghani, as she drew near me and spoke

in a low cooing voice, lest others might overhear, in these rooms

that had only hangings and no doors. "Sixty thousand citizens in

Cabul, and all the mountain tribes around it are ripe for

insurrection, and wait but the voice of Ackbar."

'"But our soldiers are brave, and our envoy is wise."

'"Was, you mean, Sahib,"

'"How--is he dead?"

'"Yes," replied Nourmahal, shaking her head, while all the sequins

flashed and glittered among the coils of her splendid dark hair; "he

was lured into a conference with Ackbar, my husband Zemaun and other

Khans, by whom he was dragged away and beheaded, in the face of your

whole troops, who are now hemmed up in their lines, a prey to hunger

and despair, while the passes are full of snow, and all the country

up in arms."

'I scarcely believed all this at the time, but she never told me

aught save the strictest truth.

'Hunger, cold and peril! Poor Mabel! thought I. On how little will

a lover dwell with delight! The pressure of her gloved hand at

parting, her broken tearful voice, which said more than a thousand

words, and the remembered signature, all seemed to make her mine, and

yet I never might see her more. I must have been reported among the

killed, and as such wept for by poor Mabel, and in time to come would

be mourned by my dear old mother in England far away.

'Every item of intelligence that reached that lonely tower was

communicated to me by Nourmahal, but, I began to perceive, only when

the grim Zemaun, with his baggy breeches, black fur cap, and shawl

with its armoury of daggers and pistols, was absent. I began to

perceive, too, that she was enhancing her great natural grace and

beauty by a costume such as she had not worn in the tent, with a

white silk camise and pink silk trousers, and a thin veil of muslin

embroidered with gold, the use of which she managed with great

coquetry, especially when she idled over the strings of her saringa;

and she made wonderful _[oe]illades_ under her long dark eyelashes,

when singing the "Song of the Rose," and other ballads in her softest

Afghani.

'"Sahib," said she one day, coming to me with her dark eyes quite

dilated, "pardon and departure in peace has been offered to your

people, if they will leave all their women in the hands of the Afghan

chiefs; but they have refused, and only one cry is heard in their

camp."

'"And that cry is?"

'"'Let us fight our way down, sword in hand! A few of us at least

shall reach Jellalabad.' But they will never reach it," she added

sadly; "Aziz Khan and Zemaun Khan have beset their homeward path with

10,000 wild Kohistanees, and the Ghilzies--the fiercest of Afghan

warriors--hold the heights that overlook it."

'I started to my feet as I heard all this, as if I would be gone; but

I threw myself back on the camel's hair divan in a species of

despair, as I knew that the tower was guarded by men with loaded

juzailchees that would kill at 800 yards. She regarded me wistfully,

and drawing near nestled like a child by my side.

'"Has the Sahib a wife in yonder camp, that he looks so sad?" she

asked shyly.

'"No."

'"A sister, perhaps?"

'"I have none."

'"That is well; you will have none to weep for."

'"How?"

'"Because, whether given as hostages in peace, or taken as spoil in

war, the Feringhee women will become the gholaums--the slaves of the

Afghan chiefs."

'My blood ran cold and hot alternately as she spoke, and something

like an imprecation escaped me. She laid a hand upon my arm, and

drawing nearer, said in her most winning voice: "But what is all this

to you? If you have no wife, no sister, then what can the fate or

fortune of the rest matter?"

'The name of Mabel rose to my lips, but died there, for a new light

broke upon me with a knowledge of what my preoccupation of mind,

during all October and the subsequent weeks, had prevented me seeing;

that, influenced by pity, gratitude, and the singular respect with

which I, as a gentleman, treated her--a respect to which she was all

unaccustomed--the wife of Zemaun Khan actually loved me; and the

knowledge of this filled me with only confusion and dismay, for if he

discovered the fact our lives were forfeited, and already some of his

household might be suspiciously cognisant of it.

'"What is all this to you, I repeat?" she asked, her clasp on my arm

tightening.

'"More than I can tell you," said I, covering my face with my hands,

and striving to think.

'"Be comforted; in losing your friends, you have not lost all who may

love you--you have still _me_!" she added in a low voice, as she laid

her head in a nestling way on my shoulder.

'This was coming to the point with a vengeance, and adding

incalculably to the perils that surrounded me; and how was I to

temporise with this hot-blooded and impulsive little oriental, whose

sudden love might quite as rapidly change to bitter hate?

'"My God--could I but escape!" I exclaimed.

'"You can; but on one condition."

'"Oh, name it!"

'"Take Nourmahal with you!" said she imploringly; "she would die if

left behind."

'"And die she shall!" said the low, concentrated and terrible voice

of Zemaun Khan, with a grim and terrible expression of face, suddenly

appearing in the curtained doorway.

'A low wail escaped Nourmahal, who sank at his feet.

'"I have heard all!" said he sternly.

'"All?" I repeated mechanically, and thinking the word might be my

last.

'"Yes, all, Sahib, and blame not you."

'"Whom, then?" I asked.

'"Her!" he replied laconically.

'"She has done no wrong!" I urged; "I call Heaven to witness!"

'"Silence, Sahib! No actual wrong, but she is morally guilty," he

exclaimed, in a hoarse, fierce, broken voice, as he spurned her with

his heavy Afghan boot; and then, as she crept grovelling towards him

imploring pity, but silently, like a dumb animal, he added, "and thus

do I, her husband, punish her!"

'Then, quick as lightning, he drew, from among the bundle of weapons

in his shawl-girdle, a dagger, and plunging it in her bosom, killed

her on the spot. A crimson torrent flowed over her white camise,

while the horrible dagger remained in the wound. I say horrible, for

the weapon was constructed in such a manner, that after being thrust

into the body the blade, on touching a spring, separated into three,

thus rendering extraction impossible.

'This tragedy appalled me, and I looked wildly round for a weapon,

resolved to sell my life as dearly as possible. Zemaun Khan saw the

action, and smiled bitterly.

'"Your life is forfeited," said he; "but not while under my roof. I

swore to be your brother for saving the life I have just taken,

though I might have obeyed the fourth chapter of the Koran, and

immured her till death came; but such a process would be too slow for

me," he added, grinding his teeth. "You have eaten of my bread and

salt, and to that salt I shall be true till we meet among the

mountains; and then woe unto thee, Feringhee! Your people are

departing--go forth and join them; but their fate and yours is

sealed. Go--I have said."

'All that passed afterwards seemed like a dream to me then. I gladly

quitted that chamber of horror, where the poor girl-wife lay

weltering in her blood; a horse was given me, and a heavy tulwar or

native sword. A wave of the hand towards the hills was all the

farewell accorded me by Zemaun Khan, and turning my back upon the

solitary tower, I rode in the direction he indicated, which proved to

be the Khoord Cabul Pass.

'Night was closing in among these stupendous mountains, which were

then all covered with snow; but as I rode on partly at random,

thinking chiefly that I might be pursued and destroyed by Zemaun Khan

and some of his followers, the sound of firing in front began to

reach my ear. It became quickly louder and louder as I proceeded,

and ere long there opened before me the long dark vista of a

snow-covered gorge, on both sides and in the centre of which

thousands of muskets were flashing redly out amid the gloom, while

their reverberated reports mingled with a most horrible medley of

sound. The British troops were being attacked; I could not doubt it,

and I rode on madly and furiously to join my comrades.

'This was the night of the 8th of January, and, as I afterwards

learned, it was but two days before that our whole garrison in Cabul

had begun one of the most disastrous retreats ever recorded in the

annals of war!

'It had been finally arranged by Colonel Berriedale and the rest of

the staff that, on the payment of 1,400,000 rupees to Ackbar Khan,

Zemaun Khan, and the chiefs of the Kuzzilbashes and Ghilzies, that

our troops were to march unmolested; yet the first-named ruffian

again recorded his terrible vow, "that every Briton should be

exterminated save ONE, who was to have his hands and feet cut off,

and be placed thus at the mouth of the Khyber Pass, with a written

notice to deter all Feringhees from entering Cabul again."

'The helpless sick were left behind; the ladies and soldiers' wives

were all in dhooleys or on horseback; and the number of souls who

quitted the camp is estimated at 16,500 in all.

'As the troops marched on they were hemmed in and impeded by the

hordes of Afghan horse and juzailchees, who with yells and shouts

dashed recklessly through the ranks, in fierce and savage mockery at

the wailing of the Hindustani camp followers, who saw their wives and

children slaughtered before their eyes, or borne off, the prey of

mounted warriors. H.M.'s 44th, with horse and artillery, under

Brigadier Anquetil, formed the advanced guard; the 54th, with some

other horse and four guns, covered the rear, on which a fire of

musketry was opened from the captured cantonments. Soon the attack

was general on every hand, and the retreat became a disorganised

flight. Horse, foot, and artillery--men, women, children,

baggage-horses, and ponies, were all wedged together in the narrow

way, where the corpse-strewn snow soon became a bloody puddle, while

a storm of matchlock-balls poured down on the helpless column as

night closed in, and none could say who had escaped and who perished.

'The aged and dying Elphinstone, with the ruin of his army, halted

amid the falling snow, without tents and food, by the margin of the

Loghur stream, hoping on the morrow to clear the Khoord Cabul Pass;

but it was already in possession of Ackbar and Zemaun Khan! With

dawn the flight, for such it was, began again. Among the wounded was

Lady Sale, who had a ball in her arm; and as Mabel had her horse shot

under her, Colonel Berriedale mounted her on his own, and fought on

foot, till a ball, unknown to his daughter, laid him low. A flag of

truce was sent to Ackbar, who shot the bearer of it, the gallant

Captain Skinner.

'Pretending he had no longer any control over the people unless

hostages were given, Ackbar thus artfully got into his power, as

such, General Elphinstone, the _whole_ of the women of the army and

their families, including Ladies Sale and Macnaghten, who were

conveyed back to Cabul; while the army, thus degraded, continued its

flight through the deep snow in the dark and shadowy gorges, into

which the Khyberees and Ghilzies poured an incessant fire of rifles,

till the Tarechee Jungle, or Dark Pass, was reached, where the whole

54th perished to a man.

'There it was I contrived to join our 44th, or what remained of it,

for in one group 200 of it had fallen; and then I learned those

dreadful tidings, which made every heart in Britain throb, that the

women of the army, among them my Mabel and her cousin, had been

surrendered to the Afghans!

'"In all the world's history," said Jack Villars, "there will be no

retreat recorded like this! That from Moscow had its survivors; this

from Cabul will have _none_! But have a cheroot, old fellow; it is

all I have saved out of my baggage."

'The terrible march was continued, and on every side the rocks

re-echoed the cries of "Death to the Feringhees! Death to the

infidel dogs!" while the wounded were always stripped and horribly

mutilated. After a brief halt, at which some ponies were shot,

flayed, and eaten raw, on we struggled again, on and on, under a

shower of shot that decimated us at every step, until we reached a

place called Jugdulluck, by which time every officer of rank had

perished; and there, on a knoll, under Jack Villars, myself, and

another, the wretched survivors, men of all arms, made a last

despairing stand against the enemy.

'"Keep by me, Clinton!" cried Villars, brandishing his sword; "we can

die but once!" He had barely spoken ere he fell forward on his face,

choking and dying, with a ball in his chest.

'Cheering wildly, we stood shoulder to shoulder, as if to welcome

death; many of us faint and bloody with open wounds; but showers of

matchlock-balls rained on us, and the roll of death increased as the

men fell across each other in heaps.

'The sudden fury with which we resisted here checked even the ardour

of the hordes that assailed us, and we were permitted to struggle

down the pass, leaving the dead or the dying at every step, till the

13th of January, when _twenty_ officers and _sixty_ privates, the

sole survivors of Elphinstone's army, unable to proceed further, made

a halt on a knoll at Gundamuck, near a grove of cypress-trees.

'To all this violation of the laws of war, this terrible treachery

and lust of blood, was added a sense of deadly horror as to _what_

would be the fate of our gently nurtured European women at the mercy

of men so savage. Imagination ran riot, the heart grew still, and we

could but hope that ere this, death had put an end to the sufferings

of all.

'"My poor Mabel!" I could but gasp, rather than sigh, at the thought

of her.

'Our ammunition was gone, we were too weak to resist with the

bayonet, and, led by Zemaun Khan, the enemy burst in among us--a

sanguinary mob--and with the knife alone slew every man there but

myself and two other officers, who, being mounted, broke through,

sword in hand, though all more or less wounded, and escaped by the

speed of our horses; yet close at our heels came a score of mounted

Afghans, Zemaun among the number.

'They fired repeatedly at us, but their matchlocks were useless on

horseback, till some dismounted and fired, taking deliberate aim over

their saddles; thus my two companions fell, and were instantly

decapitated; while I rode wildly, blindly on, with the blood pouring

from three wounds, and fast and fiercely behind me came the pursuers,

one outriding all the rest--Zemaun Khan.

'Already the last of the pass had been left behind, already the

country was becoming more flat and open, as I entered upon the plain,

or rather valley, where before me lay my only haven, Jellalabad, with

its minarets, domes, and those walls and bastions of brick which had

for months been held by the soldiers of Sale's brigade.

'Could I but rid myself of Zemaun, I might reach it. I checked my

horse, and taking a Parthian aim at my chief pursuer with the last

shot in my pistol, saw him fall from his saddle and dragged away

rearward in the stirrups by his terrified horse. The act gave the

others time to near me, and I must have perished within sight of the

city but for a few cavalry who were sent out to succour me. I had

been seen by Colonel Dennie of ours, who made that remark which is

now historical.

'"Ackbar Khan has sworn that but one man shall escape alive, and, by

heaven, yonder _he_ comes!"

'In Jellalabad my wounds were dressed. I had food, succour, and rest

for the body, but not of the mind, for almost the first tidings that

Vassal Holland had for me concerned our lost ones. The ruffian

Ackbar had despatched the hostages, as they were named--Lady Sale,

Lady Macnaghten, and their fair companions--towards Toorkistan, to be

there sold as slaves and bondwomen to the Usbec Tartars, greater

savages, if possible, than the Afghans themselves.

'By this time the general was dead. He had expired in the tower of

Zemaun Khan.

'I now remembered the words of Nourmahal, on that evening which

proved so fatal to her, that "whether given as hostages in peace, or

taken as spoil in war, the Feringhee women will become the

gholaums--the slaves of the Afghan chiefs."

'"So they still live, Vassal?" said I, with a groan.

'"Yes; but for what a fate--for what a fate! I would rather hear

that my poor Bella were dead!"

'Eight months passed after this--eight months of acute horror and

terrible anxiety to all who had, as we had, a tender interest in the

lost; and common humanity made all sympathise with such as Sir Robert

Sale, who had a wife and daughter in such butcherly hands.

'How these months were passed, and all we did, if detailed, would far

exceed the limits of my story; suffice it, that we joined the "Army

of Vengeance," as it was named--the army that again marched, but in

triumph, up those terrible passes which were literally paved with

whitening human remains and the bones of horses and other baggage

animals--the army which drove the Afghan tribes like chaff before the

wind, fought victoriously the battle of Tizeen, and raised a shout of

triumph when it came again in sight of Cabul, when the standard of

Ackbar Khan was trod in the bloody dust, and the flames of ruin

enveloped the great Balahissar.

'This was on the 12th of October, just about a year from that night

when I had seen Mabel Berriedale, in all her girlish beauty, at Lady

Sale's, and we had the unlucky adventure with the pocket-book. Ages

seemed to have elapsed since then!

'"I have news for you, gentlemen," said the white-haired Sir Robert

Sale (whose services dated back to the wars against Tippoo Sahib), as

he came hurriedly one morning into the place which we had improvised

as a mess-bungalow, in the now ruined cantonments--"most welcome

news," he added emphatically, as his voice broke and tears filled his

eyes, "and doubly so to a husband and father, like me. Thanks to the

courage, diplomacy, and daring of Sir Richmond Shakespeare, at the

head of 600 Kuzzilbash Lancers, the whole of the ladies have been

rescued, when _en route_ to Toorkistan, and are now on their way to

join us here."

'He fairly broke down as he said this, and covered his face with his

handkerchief. A half cheer rose from the group in the bungalow,

where there was not an eye unmoistened. Then Sir Robert looked up

and said:

'"In a few minutes we shall march to meet them! There go the bugles

of ours! See," he added, with a sparkling eye, "how the 13th are

rushing to the muster-place, actually belting themselves as they come

along!"

'Under Sir Robert's orders, in less than an hour we had left Cabul

behind us. With the 13th Light Infantry he had the 3rd Light

Dragoons (now Hussars), the first Bengal Cavalry, and a train of

mountain guns, to keep any wandering horde in awe.

'Light were the hearts of the soldiers as they marched along.

Cheerfully had they ever marched--to battle and siege, at Ghuzni,

Jellalabad, and Cabul, but more cheerfully did they now depart on

their errand of mercy and succour; and they marched with a rapidity I

have never seen equalled, save in the advance on Lucknow.

'Vassal Holland was more hopeful than I was. Dreadful doubts

suggested themselves to me from time to time. I might hear that

Mabel Berriedale had died months ago; that she might have been

abducted for the rarity of her beauty, and that an impenetrable veil

obscured her fate! Ackbar was said to have appropriated one of the

captives. Heavens, if it proved to be Mabel!

'Her figure came before me as I saw it last--the memory of her voice

choked in tears, and the tremulous pressure of her hand, while the

warning bugles blew, and it was too late to speak--too late to

explain!

'Ere long a dark group appeared advancing, with glittering spears,

out of a valley, as Sale's command attained the crest of a hill. It

was Sir Richmond, with the ladies and the Lancers!

'A shout burst from the soldiers, and actually breaking their ranks,

they rushed forward, and with loud cheers greeted all, but chiefly

Lady Sale and her widowed daughter.

'In another moment I had both Mabel and Bella in my arms, till Vassal

drew the latter from me. Many now met friends from whom they had

long been parted; as if in death. Wives threw themselves into the

arms of husbands, daughters embraced fathers, and the artillery fired

a salute that shook the hills of Jubeais.

'"Papa--I do not see papa!" said Mabel anxiously.

'"Lay your head on my breast, darling, and I will whisper all!"

'"He is dead, then; and poor mamma too is gone! I have no one in the

world----"

'"But me, darling!" said I, as I kissed her tears away and assisted

her to remount.

'Here ends my story. We were to have been married when we returned

to Old England had not events occurred which I cannot tell you now,

but the results of which are swiftly passing away, and I shall be

soon able to call her my own after long years of waiting, having had

enough and to spare of Afghanistan and the Khyber Mountains.'

[Illustration: Chapter 7 headpiece]

DICK STAPLES

OF

THE 'QUEEN'S OWN,'

[Illustration: Chapter 7 tailpiece]

DICK STAPLES OF THE 'QUEEN'S OWN.'

When I came back, boys, after my fighting in India was over, you

laughed at my old red coat (for I had no other)--a trifle tattered, I

dare say it was, as well it might be, after all I had gone through in

it latterly; but you never forgot, boys, that it was the old Red Rag,

that tells of England's glory!

The company to which I belonged--the Grenadiers of the 'Queen's Own'

(for Grenadiers were not abolished till soon after the time of the

Indian Mutiny)--was cantoned at Jubbulpore, in the month of July,

when all Bengal was seething with revolt, and murder and outrage were

occurring everywhere. All was quiet as yet in Jubbulpore, which I

may tell you is in Berar, on the tableland of the Deccan; but ugly

rumours came from time to time about the 50th and 52nd Bengal Sepoy

regiments, who were stationed at Nagode, the nearest post to us, and

which, of all the Bengal army, were eventually the last to revolt.

Neither tongue nor pen can describe what we--the handful of Europeans

among the millions of India--endured at that terrible time, when the

souls of fathers and mothers, of husbands and wives, daily grew sick

with anxiety, while the atrocities of Delhi and Cawnpore, and more

than a hundred other places, made our soldiers go mad in their

longing for revenge. But all that is history now.

In the same cantonments with us was a regiment of Punjaubees, who had

as yet remained quiet; but more could not be said of them, and we of

the Queen's Own watched them closely, for we were only one to ten of

them, and as no order for disarming them had come, we pretended to

trust them, and affected a frankness and faith in our bearing with

them we were far from feeling.

Thus, cantonment life went on pretty much the same as usual--the

parade after gunfire, the officers and ladies riding or driving on

the course, or the former idling in the verandas of the bungalows,

sipping iced drinks or brandy-pawnee, studying the last Bengal

_Hurkaru_ or the thermometer; and the pandies cooking their

food--rice and chillies, chupatties and ghee, under the glaring sun,

in their own lines, and careful that the baleful shadow of no

European passer should, during the process, fall across it. Our

chief fear was that the approach of some thousand natives and

deserters, led by Koer Sing, steeped in slaughter and flushed with

conquest and crime, might in an hour change the face of things, and

find us fighting for bare existence with the very men who shared the

garrison duty of the cantonment with us.

Captain Basil Heron, who commanded us--a handsome man, in the prime

of life, a great favourite with us all, and the leader in all manly

sports and schemes for our welfare--with Captain Dalton, who

commanded the Punjaubees, began to take quietly some measures to

render the Residency, the only brick edifice there, more defensible

than it was, a place wherein to place the European women and children

in case of emergency.

Captain Heron had a wife--a fair and delicate English girl--and one

little child, on whom they both doted; and when I saw the expression

of haggard anxiety their faces wore, and the faces of others who had

such charges to love and protect, I thanked Heaven that then and

there I had neither wife nor child to care for, nor aught to look

after but my old 'Brown Bess.'

Rumours that precautions were being taken spread like lightning

through the native lines, and Buktawur Sing, the Subadar-Major of the

Punjaubees, a grotesquely ferocious-looking fellow, with a large hook

nose, and black mustachios of such enormous length that they floated

over his shoulders, went to Captain Heron, and, with his base eyes

full of tears, besought him not to send the ladies and children out

of the cantonments, as the whole of his regiment had sworn on the

waters of the Ganges 'to be true to their salt.' Captain Heron heard

this promise doubtfully; but Mrs. Heron, who sat there with her baby

crowing in her lap, its fat fingers clutching at the golden curls

that clustered round her forehead, besought her husband to believe

him.

But although he salaamed and bowed very low indeed, my particular

chum and comrade, Bill Brierly, who had been more than twelve years

in India, expressed to me his firm belief that this was all acting,

and that 'the time was at hand when we might look out for squalls!'

And I was sure Bill was right, for I had been on duty as an orderly

in the veranda on the evening when Buktawur Sing quitted the

captain's bungalow, and there was no vestige of his crocodile's tears

as he passed me; but a broad grin spread over his brown face, and a

cruel leer came into his eyes as he paused for a few seconds, and

listened to the voice of Mrs. Heron, who was singing at the piano.

Despite the promises of Buktawur Sing, Captain Heron, as senior

officer, posted a picquet at some distance from the cantonments on

the road to Nagode, to cut off communication with the two regiments

there--at least, to prevent any concerted movement being arranged;

and all postal matters being then at a standstill, we knew little

about what was going on around us, but heard only vague and

terrifying rumours.

On a night early in July, I was detailed for the picquet on the

Nagode road, and Captain Heron resolved to accompany it, though it

was under Mr. Drayton of Ours, a middle-sized and handsome fellow,

with a delicate-looking face, and much of that self-esteem and

imperturbable confidence of character peculiar to many young

Englishmen. He had seen service, too, and had on his breast the

Crimean medals.

As we paraded in front of Captain Heron's bungalow, he came forth

with his sword and revolver, and his pretty young wife clinging to

his arm.

'Are you compelled to go, Basil?' she asked.

'No; yet somehow I feel impelled to-night; but retire, Rose.

Good-night, dear--you look tired; to bed, and pleasant dreams to you.'

'You have your flask and the sandwiches, and your great-coat?'

'Everything. How thoughtful you are! Good-night, and kiss baby for

me.'

We marched out through the lines; but Mrs. Heron, who had some sad

foreboding, watched the picquet as long as it was in sight. Heron

and Drayton chose their halting-place and threw out their advanced

sentinels a considerable distance in front of the picquet. Of these,

I was one, and my orders were, on the advance of any armed party, to

fall back softly and silently, and communicate the alarm. Alone on

my post there, keeping watch with the stars, and the whole sweep of

country before me, memory went back to the old, or rather the young,

days of my boyhood, even to yonder old mill, when I worked there; the

rabbits in the brake, the squirrels in the trees, the nuts and

berries in the hedgerows; till suddenly the galloping of a horse

roused me, and I cocked my musket. The sound came from the front!

Another moment and the rider was before me, and reined up. He

evidently had heard nothing of the picquet, and was enraged to find

me barring the way. By his uniform he was a subadar of the 50th B.N.

Infantry, and mounted on an officer's horse.

'The parole?' said I.

'How should I know it? I have just come from Nagode,' said he, in

broken English; adding, 'Stand back, Kafir!'

'Oh ho!' I exclaimed, as the epithet warned me at once of enmity; and

grasping his reins, 'What news have you from that quarter?' I asked.

'Only that the faithful have risen at last, and not one of the

accursed _Ghora Logue_ (_i.e._, white people) will be left alive--not

even the youngling at its mother's breast, and all in Jubbulpore

shall perish too!' he added through his clenched teeth, while his

eyes blazed with fury, and he attempted to draw his sword; but ere he

could do so, and as his horse rose on its haunches for an onward

bound, I jerked the powerful curb with such violence to the rear,

that ere the sword had left its scabbard, man and horse were

prostrate on the road--the former stunned and senseless. In a moment

more I was in his saddle and galloping back to report to Captain

Heron all I had heard from the envoy of the mutineers.

The picquet had barely got under arms when a great hubbub was heard

coming on from the front, but no appearance of armed men, though the

moon had now shone forth. It was chiefly the rolling of wheels and

clatter of hoofs, and ere long there came up a wild and terrified

throng of European fugitives from Nagode--dishevelled women,

exasperated men, and wailing children. In a word, on the approach of

the rebels under Koer Sing, the 50th and 52nd had broken out into

open mutiny; but, by some merciful interposition of Providence, had

permitted their officers, with their families, to fly to Jubbulpore,

where they hoped for a time, at least, to find protection and safety.

Captain Heron was in the act of promising both, when a cry escaped

him, for a sound of scattered musket-shots was heard in our rear, and

flames were shooting up from every quarter of the cantonments of

Jubbulpore.

'The Punjaubees have revolted!' exclaimed everyone. The sentinels

were called in, and the picquet fell back at 'the double'--every

heart beating wildly. Upwards of thirty straw-roofed bungalows and

innumerable haystacks were blazing at once, casting a lurid glare on

the country for miles around; great pinnacles of wavering and

many-coloured flames, with huge volumes of smoke, rose into the air

of the sultry night, the roar of the conflagration mingling with the

yells of the rioters and the shrieks of the perishing.

Under Buktawur Sing, whom some other messenger had reached, the

Punjaubees had revolted, looted and destroyed the bungalows, and gone

off to Nagode, killing every European who failed to reach the

Residency, taking with them, 'as hostages,' Mrs. Heron, with her

baby, and a Lieutenant Macgregor. Wild wrath swelled up in all our

hearts, as we looked around us, and collected the dead--the gashed

bodies of brave men, of helpless women and children; and I shall

never forget the face of Captain Heron, as he clung to Mr. Drayton's

arm, and looked at the flaming bungalow to which he had brought his

bride last year.

'Henceforth,' said he, 'life will seem a blank behind me--worse than

all, a blank before me, with a memory floating through it--the memory

of her, and our poor little baby!' and he covered his face with his

hands. 'My poor little wife! that I should have been so near, and

yet utterly powerless to save her!'

'Hold up, bear up, for Heaven's sake, old fellow!' I heard Drayton

say; 'surely even these wretches will not have the heart to hurt a

hair of her head.'

But Basil Heron answered only with a groan, yet not a tear escaped

him. His grief and horror seemed too deep for even tears; every man

of the Queen's Own there, felt that he could face death or anything

to rescue her and make him happy; but too probably only unavailing

vengeance was left to us! However, we had no time for much

reflection. We took up our quarters in the Residency, all that were

left of us, resolved, if attacked, to sell our lives as dearly as

possible.

We entrenched and fortified it to the best of our means. The

verandas were bricked up, leaving only loopholes to fire through.

Sandbags were placed all round the roof, which was flat; we staked

the ground all about it to prevent a rushing attack, laid in grain

for three months, and got two field-pieces planted in front of the

house, to command the approach. We had in our care ten ladies, a

number of sergeants and writers' wives, and ever so many children.

In all we numbered now only about fifty fighting men, including

officers, to furnish guards night and day, as we were in hourly

expectation of an attack. Poor Captain Heron--the ghost of his

former self--superintended all this, but day by day went past without

tidings of his wife and child, and he would rather have known that

they were lying, where so many others lay, in the burial-pit close

by, in rest and peace, than endure the awful uncertainty that he did

as to their fate.

After a time we heard that the rebels and mutineers of that quarter

were all massed, and living riotously, under the ex-Subadar-Major

Buktawur Sing, in a place called Kuttingee, ten miles from

Jubbulpore. They numbered several thousands--too strong for us to

attack, and not even to save his wife dared Captain Heron risk the

lives of his soldiers. And now it was that my comrade, Bill Brierly,

came so manfully to the front. He was a queer fellow, Bill, and

early in life had been--so the Queen's said--a strolling player. He

was always merry and laughing, sang a good song, and was up to all

kinds of larks; so now he volunteered to go to Kuttingee disguised as

a _budmash_--one of the idle and rascally sort of irregular soldiers

who loaf about bazaars, and are up to all kinds of mischief--and as

such try to obtain some tidings of Mrs. Heron.

'Fifty guineas--aye, all I have in the world--are yours for any news

you bring me, Brierly; even if they be evil,' said the captain, in a

broken voice.

'Sir, I don't do this for money,' replied Bill; 'but for love of

yourself and the poor young lady, who was so kind to me when in

hospital--down with jungle fever. I risk my life daily for a

shilling; why should not I do so, once at least, for her?'

'God bless you, Brierly!' said the captain, wringing his hand. 'God

bless you!'

How I envied Bill, and would gladly have gone with him, but he--used

to acting, knowing the lingo and the ways of the country, and how to

comport himself--could alone perform the perilous task he undertook,

knowing well, too, the while, that if he fell into the enemy's hands

by being discovered, he would suffer a death as elaborately cruel as

these barbarians could devise. He attired himself in a blue silk

koortah, over a muslin shirt; a yellow-coloured chintz was wrapped

round his shoulders; he wore a green turban and white cummerbund, or

sash, in which he placed a brace of double-barrelled pistols

carefully loaded. His face and neck to the shoulders and his hands

to the wrists were coloured with lamp-black, the cork he used being

dipped in oil to cause the colour to adhere; and thus disguised, he

left the Residency, singing as he went--

'Sing hey, sing ho for the army O!

Sing hey for the fame of the army O!

A shilling a day is very fine pay,

Then buckle and away for the army O!'

And we watched him, as, after the heat of mid-day was past, he took,

alone, the road that led to Kuttingee.

Three days passed, and as there was no sign of poor Bill coming back,

we began to fear the worst--that 'the niggers' had discovered and

cruelly killed him.

After perils or risks that might be spun out into a volume, Bill got

past the outposts and sentries of the rebels and found himself in

Kuttingee--ostensibly a _budmash_--willing to serve, for money or

mischief, Buktawur Sing, or anyone else. Riot and disorder seemed to

prevail in every quarter, though for their own safety the rebel

Sepoys maintained a kind of discipline, and had guards and sentries

posted. On all hands were seen the plunder of villas and bungalows.

In the bazaar, three European heads were hung in a _bhoosa_ bag, or

forage-net, and Bill looked at them with anxiety lest one might prove

the head of her he had come to seek tidings of.

Three days were passed without progress being made; but on the third

he succeeded beyond his expectation.

When loitering near the gate of the fort, which overlooked the town

of Kuttingee, he jostled unexpectedly a Sepoy in the uniform of an

officer, all save a huge green turban, who was about to enter the

gate.

'_Chullo Sahib!_' (Come, sir!), the latter exclaimed angrily; 'what

in the name of Jehannum are you about?'

Bill's heart leaped on finding himself face to face with Buktawur

Sing, the commander of all the rascal multitude in the place!

'Who are you?' demanded the ex-Subadar-Major.

'Sookham Lall, a budmash, in want of a captain.'

'From whence?'

'Jubbulpore, last.'

'Jubbulpore! What are the cursed Kafirs doing there?'

Bill described in somewhat exaggerated terms the fortification and

garrison of the Residency.

'We may bring guns against it,' said Buktawur.

'They too have got guns,' replied Bill, though he knew that the

Residency could no more stand a bombardment than a house of cards.

'And now, what do you want here?' asked Buktawur, his black beady

eyes gleaming suspiciously.

'To kill your Christian prisoners, just to keep my hand in,' replied

Bill, grinding his teeth; 'you have twenty, I understand.'

'I have only two here--the Sahib Macgregor and the Mehm Sahib Heron

(her brat is not worth counting); there they are in the garden.'

Bill laid a hand on his tulwar.

'Not so fast, my friend,' said Buktawur, with a grin, 'for she is to

be my wife; and if matters go hard with me I may want the Sahib's

head.'

'So they live yet!' thought Bill, as he entered the garden of the

fort, but dared not approach them, though looking sharply at them,

and viewing the strong defences of the place, and the avenues that

led to it.

In a kind of alcove, excavated out of the solid rock of the fort,

Mrs. Heron--clad now partly like a native woman--was seated with her

baby in her lap, and near her Lieutenant Macgregor, as if for

companionship or the sympathy he dared scarcely to manifest. He was

in the rags of his uniform, and both looked haggard and wasted with

the anxieties and troubles they had undergone.

Bill drew near her, but at that moment a Sepoy came to Buktawur for

orders.

'Don't start, Mrs. Heron,' he whispered, 'or seem to see or hear

me--I'm Billy Brierly, of your husband's company. He is well and

unwounded, and counts every hour till he can rescue you.'

Bill then drew back, for now Buktawur Sing came hastily and

suspiciously forward. Mrs. Heron looked up. Astonishment, gratitude

and hope were expressed in her eyes by tears, but not a ray of joy

shone in them; and honest Bill Brierly felt his heart wrung as he

looked on the poor lady, and saw now that the baby she held in her

lap was dead!

He mentioned this to Buktawur Sing.

'_Kootch purwanni_' ('Never mind'), replied the latter, laughing to

see her bending over it in the depth of her misery, and playing with

his little white hands and flaxen curls.

'My little Basil--my little Basil!' she kept repeating; 'my little

sunbeam gone! But safe now--safe from peril and suffering--safe with

the Good Shepherd. And I am here!'

As if to show his weariness or contempt of this, the ferocious

Buktawur Sing snatched the child from her, and, with an imprecation,

cast it into the alligator tank in the centre of the garden. She

uttered a wild shriek and fell forward on her face senseless.

Macgregor started to her assistance, but was driven back by the sharp

bayonet of a Sepoy sentry; and Brierly, finding that he was powerless

to give any aid whatever, quitted the place, and with a sob for

vengeance in his throat, took the way back to Jubbulpore.

Bill mercifully remained silent as to the fate of the child; but poor

young Captain Heron was never weary of questioning him as to it and

the unhappy mother.

'It is a sore trial to me, Brierly,' said he, in a broken voice.

'Yes, sir,' he replied; 'but He who sends the trial sends the

strength to bear it too.'

'Bear it like a man,' urged Drayton.

'But I must also _feel_ it as a man,' replied poor Heron,

unconsciously quoting the words of Macduff.

And now came tidings that filled us all with grim and stern joy. The

movable column of the Madras troops, under General Miller, was on the

march from Dumoh to attack the rebels in Kuttingee, and drawing out

from the Residency every man fit for service, Captain Heron set off

to join him; and I can remember how, on the march, he kept near the

section where Brierly was, for the latter had seen and spoken with

the creature _he_ loved most on earth. A ghastly and haggard man

Heron looked now--the shadow of his former self.

Though it was only a ten-miles tramp, and, leaving knapsacks behind,

we had only our great-coats and blankets to carry, I shall never

forget that day's march to Kuttingee! It was one of thirst and toil,

with all our canteens and water-bottles empty. We pushed on under a

noonday sun, under which the parched earth seemed to pant like a

living creature. The streams were dried up, and all that was green

had become yellow and sickly in hue; the sky seemed a furnace--the

sun a globe of fire. Clouds of dust surrounded our line of march,

and sand-spouts rose at times; the ravens and kites gaped with

wide-open beaks by the wayside, and the alligators lay hidden to the

muzzle in their oozy tanks. Fissures gaped in the soil; the birds

were hushed, and insect-life stood still; the 'burra choop,' or Great

Silence, as the Hindoos call it, reigned around us, and we had three

cases of sunstroke; yet we pushed manfully on, and when evening drew

near found ourselves in front of Kuttingee.

The first shot might be the death-knell of Mrs. Heron and all other

Christian prisoners, so the emotions with which her husband surveyed

it as he marched the remains of his company into the assigned

position may be imagined.

The outworks of the fort were armed with cannon, which opened on our

columns as soon as they were within range, and to which ours were not

slow in replying, and making a considerable slaughter of the infantry

that lined the summit of the walls and towers, which their return

fire seemed to garland with flashes and smoke. We of the Queen's, as

a flank company, had the Minie rifle (which by force of habit we

still called Brown Bess), and in closing up we took cover under every

bush or stone, and picked off the rebels by steady pot-shots

delivered from the knee. We carried the outworks by a furious rush

at the point of the bayonet, and then slewed round a couple of the

heaviest guns, by which we blew in the gate of the keep, or central

fort. Beyond was a traverse, over which the rebels were firing; a

tempest of balls swept through the arch as the wind sweeps a tunnel,

and there fell many of ours, and among them poor Bill Brierly.

Our loud hurrahs replied to the yells of 'Deendeen!' ('Faith!') and

'Death to the Kafirs, the Feringhees, the Ghora Logue!' while

maddened by bhang, opium and churuis, the infuriated Sepoys met us

hand to hand, but only to go down on every side; for, with our bugles

sounding the 'advance,' we stormed the traverse at a rush, and spread

all over the garden within the square fort.

We fought our way desperately. 'Remember the ladies--remember the

babies!' were our cries. Near the alligator tank lay the bodies of a

European man and woman. They were those of Lieutenant Macgregor and

Mrs. Heron, before whom he had thrown himself twice, as she was cut

down by the tulwar of Buktawur Sing, and the blood was yet flowing

from her wound when we found her. As for the poor officer, he was

found, as the General reported, 'with a hole through the neck, both

arms broken, and his body perforated by upwards of thirty wounds.'

I was an old soldier even then. I had been in many battles, and seen

much of death and suffering, but I felt a choking in my throat as I

saw Basil Heron, kneeling, sword in hand, by the side of his wife for

a moment, ere he rushed away, intent on revenge.

Hemmed in a corner, amid a heap of dead and dying, he ere long found

Buktawur Sing, and, though I did not see it, close and terrible was

the combat that ensued between them.

'At last! at last I have him! God, I thank Thee!' he exclaimed, with

a fervour that mingled with just indignation; and he ordered Drayton

to stand back, and the soldiers, who were ready to shoot the reptile

down, to leave him to his own fate. Buktawur was armed with a

ponderous tulwar, edged like a razor; and Heron, fortunately for

himself, had not one of our regulation tailors' swords, but a

straight good-cutting blade that his father had used in Central

India. His teeth were set; he panted rather than breathed; his check

was pale--his eyes were blazing, and sparks of fire flew from their

swords at every stroke. But fate was against Buktawur Sing, he

received in his body a succession of cuts and thrusts that brought

him, with blood flowing from every vein, upon his knees, and when his

turban fell off, by one trenchant slash Basil Heron clove him from

the brain to the chin, and with his foot fiercely he spurned the

corpse as it sunk before him.

* * * * * *

'Where is she?' he gasped hoarsely of me and others, as he staggered

back to the side of the alligator tank, and found that his wife had

disappeared.

'Inside the fort. Calm yourself. We have laid her on a charpoy,

poor girl!' said Drayton.

'My poor Rose! my poor Rose!' moaned Heron, as he covered his face,

and the hot tears streamed through his fingers. Through a place

where 150 of the 52nd alone were lying dead, he was led into a

darkened room, where, after the roar of the storm and capture, all

seemed dreadfully still. On a charpoy, or native bed, lay Rose

Heron, and Sheikh Abdul Ali, a native doctor, was bathing and binding

up the wound; and, nerving himself for what he had to look upon, her

husband drew near, and with trembling hands drew back the

mosquito-curtains.

Was he dreaming? was it a mockery or a delusion that he saw Rose

there--not dead--not even dying; but with her eyes seeking for

him--blood already mantling in her pale cheek? And he learned that

the blow of the felon's tulwar had--though cutting her tender

forehead--only stunned her, for the hand of Macgregor had caused the

blade to turn in his grasp!

Some bright beams often fall from the gloomiest sky. So husband and

wife had met again, and--after all they had undergone--survived to

spend the coming Christmas at home in old England, and to hear the

merry chimes in their peaceful Kentish village ring out upon the

frosty air the message of Peace and Goodwill to All.

[Illustration: Chapter 8 headpiece]

THE STORY

OF

LIEUTENANT JAMES MOODY

OF

BARTON'S REGIMENT.

[Illustration: Chapter 8 tailpiece]

THE STORY

OF

LIEUTENANT JAMES MOODY

OF

BARTON'S REGIMENT.

The exploits of this adventurous but forgotten Scot, who nearly

perished miserably on an American scaffold, like Major André of the

Cameronians, surpassed in some respects even those of Captain

Colquhoun Grant, the famous scouting officer of Wellington, so

extolled by Napier in his 'History of the Peninsular War.'

During the progress of the strife with our revolted colonists in

America, he rendered himself famous by the skill and audacity with

which he intercepted many of their mails and brought them into New

York, then the British headquarters after the Battle of Long Island.

In May, 1780, when an ensign, with four trusty soldiers he penetrated

into New Jersey, for the purpose of surprising Governor Livingstone,

who cruelly oppressed the royalists, but failing to achieve his

capture, his next idea was to blow up the magazine at Suckasanna,

which also proved abortive, as he found it guarded by above one

hundred bayonets. On being joined by a few soldiers who had been

taken with Burgoyne at Saratoga, he entered the mountainous county of

Sussex, in the principal gaol of which, he learned, several prisoners

were confined for their loyalty, and among them a poor soldier of

Burgoyne's, who had been doomed to death; merely for being a

royalist. Moody determined on achieving the release of this man and

all the other prisoners.

Selecting six men he came to the gaol door late at night, and his

business was demanded by the keeper from an open window.

'I have here a prisoner to put into your custody,' he replied.

'Is he one of Moody's fellows?' asked the gaoler, at a venture.

'Yes, exactly so,' replied the ensign, giving the name of some noted

Tory in the neighbourhood, and desiring the keeper to come for him.

The latter declined, saying that 'Moody was about, and he had orders

to admit no man after sunset.'

'I am Ensign Moody,' said that officer sternly; 'I have a strong

party with me, and if you do not surrender your keys, I will blow the

place about your ears!'

His men now imitated the Indian war-whoop, and shouted, 'The

Indians--the Indians have come!'

On this the gaoler, his assistants, and even many of the townspeople,

fled to the woods. Moody then burst into the gaol through the

window, and found the condemned soldier in his cell fast asleep.

'There is no possibility,' says Moody's Narrative (now out of print),

'of describing the agony of this man when he saw before him a man in

arms, attended by persons he was utterly at a loss to recognise. The

first and only idea that occurred to him was, that, as many of the

friends of the government had been privately executed in prison, the

person he saw was his executioner!'

Moody released and carried off with him all the prisoners, including

the soldier, who, by a strange freak of fortune, was afterwards taken

again during the war, and hanged in the same prison, and in virtue of

the old sentence, though we are told that his only crime was 'an

unshaken allegiance to his sovereign.' This seems barely probable,

as another soldier, a Scotsman named Robert Maxwell, was executed at

the same time for robbery and plunder.

On the 6th of March, 1781, when Moody was still an ensign, the

Adjutant-General, Oliver de Lancy, of the 17th Light Dragoons,

successor in office to the ill-fated André, proposed 'an expedition

into the rebel country, for the purpose of intercepting the

despatches of Mr. Washington.' Moody instantly undertook the task,

and marching his party twenty-five miles that night, concealed them

in a morass; but the guide lost heart, which so enraged Moody that he

would have shot him, but for the sake of his wife and family, and was

compelled to return to New York. Colonel de Lancy was much

disappointed; the guide was made a prisoner, and on the 11th of the

same month Moody set forth again, and reached the Haverstraw

Mountains, which overlook the Hudson, amid a snow-storm, and by the

15th he captured the despatches and their bearer; but so great were

the hardships undergone that some of his men perished of cold and

hunger. For this, Moody, who had been one year a volunteer, and

three an ensign, was promoted to a lieutenancy.

About the middle of May the adjutant-general, being in want of

intelligence, suggested to Moody the capture of another 'rebel mail;'

and on the night of the 15th he set forth with four well-armed men,

and after proceeding many miles, he found himself beset on three

sides by a considerable number of the Colonial troops, who, having

secret intelligence of his movements from New York, were then in

ambush awaiting him.

On the fourth side lay a ridge of cliffs, so steep and rugged that to

escape by it seemed impossible. There was no alternative now but to

surrender and die, or leap down the cliffs, and in the dark. Calling

on his men to follow him, the daring Moody sprang down, and as the

soil was soft at the base, they were all unhurt, though seriously

shaken. They now crossed a swamp, only to find themselves before a

still stronger party of the enemy when day was breaking. To advance

was impossible, as there was no doubt that they had been betrayed.

They contrived to creep away unseen, and travelled till they gained

the North River within four miles of New York. Just when Moody

conceived they were out of all peril, a party of seventy men, under

arms, issued from a wayside house, and opened fire upon him. 'He

received one general discharge, and thought it a miracle he escaped

unwounded; the bullets fell like a storm of hail around him; his

clothes were shot through in several places; one ball pierced his

hat, another grazed his arm. Without at all slackening his pace, he

turned round, discharged his musket, and killed one of his pursuers;

still they kept up their fire, each man discharging his piece as fast

as he could load; but gaining an opportunity of soon doubling upon

them, he gave them the slip, and in due time arrived once more safe

in New York.'*

* 'Political Magazine,' vol. iv.

He departed again on the same perilous errand for Pompton, on the

18th May, conceiving that the foe would think they had sufficiently

scared him from further expeditions of the kind. With four resolute

fellows, he crossed the Hakinsack river by a canoe which he concealed

among the long, rank sedges, and soon fell in with an American

patrol, whose object was to prevent the conveyance of provisions to

the British headquarters. He was ordered to stand or be instantly

shot. With his four men, he fired, and then gave an order as if he

had a strong force in reserve, on which the patrol fled.

A four miles' march brought them to the Saddle river, which had

overflown its banks; the night was gloomy and tempestuous, and a body

of American regulars held the bridge. He was thus compelled to ford

the river, a task of great danger and difficulty. Rumour said that

'Moody was out,' and the mail instead of being sent as usual, by the

way of Pompton, was sent by another way under a guard. Selecting a

man whose voice, face, and tall figure resembled his own, he sent him

to a certain justice of the peace in another neighbourhood, who at

once fled to the woods, giving out everywhere that Moody was _there_.

To that quarter the Colonial troops were at once despatched, while

Moody captured the mail at another, and brought in all the despatches

relative to the important interview between General Washington and

Count Rochambeau in Connecticut. After this, Moody captured two more

bags of despatches, in one expedition being aided by his younger

brother, who must have been a mere lad, as he himself was then only

in his twenty-fourth year.

In October, 1781, Captain and Brevet-Major George Beckwith, of the

37th Regiment, then aide-de-camp to Lieutenant-General Baron

Knyphausen, informed Mr. Moody that a person named Addison had

suggested a project of great moment--to bring off all the books and

papers of the Congress! This Englishman had held some inferior

office under Thompson, the Secretary to the Congress, and, being a

prisoner of war, it was resolved that he should be released, return

to his old employment at Philadelphia, where Moody would visit

him--Major Beckwith vouching for his fidelity.

Moody undertook this perilous duty with the full knowledge that

Addison might deem him well worth betrayal; thus he stipulated that

the former was to be kept in ignorance that he had undertaken it.

Moody took with him only his brother John and another Scotsman, named

Marr, on whom he could rely, and a night--the 2nd of November--and

place were appointed where they were to meet the traitor Addison, in

the vicinity of Philadelphia.

They met him duly, but Lieutenant Moody kept a little in the

background lest his figure, which was a tall one, might be recognised

by Addison, who was at once accosted by his brother and Marr. The

former told them that everything was ready; that he had obtained

access to the most secret archives of the Senate House, and that next

evening he would deliver up all the books and papers they were in

quest of. Mutual assurances of fidelity were exchanged. They

crossed the river together in a boat for Philadelphia, unaccompanied

by Moody, whose first foreboding or suspicion was a right one, for

the perfidious Addison had already sold him and his companions to the

Congress!

Pretending that the precise time at which their plans could be

executed was dubious, Addison suggested that Lieutenant Moody should

remain at the ferryhouse opposite the city till they returned; and

before departing he told a keeper of it that the visitor was an

officer of the New Jersey Brigade, which the woman understood to be

the force of that name under Washington. To avoid notice, Moody

affected indisposition, and remained in a room upstairs, but with his

arms ready, awake and on the watch.

Next morning he overheard a man saying to another:

'There is the very devil to pay in Philadelphia! There has been a

plot to break into the Senate House, but one fellow has betrayed two

who are now taken, and a party of soldiers are coming to seize a

_third_, who is concealed somewhere hereabouts.'

On hearing this alarming intelligence, Moody took his pistols, rushed

downstairs, and escaped. He was not one hundred yards from the house

when he saw the soldiers enter it! He attempted to gain shelter in a

thicket by leaping a fence, but found the latter lined by cavalry,

and got concealment in a ditch, under the overhanging weeds and

shrubs. There he lay for some time with pistols cocked, and heard

the soldiers pass and repass within ten yards of him. From the ditch

they went all round an adjacent field, where he could see them

probing the stacks of Indian corn with their bayonets; and conceiving

rightly that they would not explore there again, when night fell he

sought shelter in one; and as his pursuers were still about, he

remained in an upright position in the stack, without food or drink,

for two days and nights, enduring excruciating torture. The stacks

were destitute of corn, being merely straw.

After a time he ventured, in the dark, to the bank of the Delaware,

and finding a small boat, while full of grief for the peril of his

brother and friend, pushed off and rowed up the river; and though

many times accosted by people on the water, he replied to them 'in

the rough phraseology of the gentlemen of the oar;' and escaping

unsuspected, after many adventures and circuitous marches, all

undergone in the night, in five days from the time of his landing, he

reached in safety the British headquarters at New York. There was

not the slightest hope that his brother would be pardoned, for the

treason of Arnold and many recent events had infused much rancour in

the minds of the contending parties. Tried by court-martial, the two

prisoners were sentenced to death and executed. John Moody was in

his twenty-third year, and on learning his fate, his father--an old

and deserving soldier--lost his reason. The American bulletin runs

thus in the papers of the time;

PHILADELPHIA, _November_ 14, 1781.

'On Thursday morning last, Lawrence Marr and John Moody, of Colonel

Barton's Tory Regiment, were apprehended on suspicion of being spies.

On the following day they were indulged with a candid hearing before

a board of officers, whereof the Hon. Major-General the Marquis de la

Fayette was president. It appears that their business was to steal

and carry off the Secret Journals of Congress to New York.... The

Board having reported to the Hon. Board of War, their opinion was

approved, and Marr and Moody were both sentenced to die, which

sentence was executed on Moody between the hours of eleven and

twelve; Marr is respited until the 23rd instant.... The enemy, who

at this period seem equal to no exploits superior to robbing mails

and stealing papers, may thank their beloved friend Benedict Arnold

for the untimely death of the young man, who was only in his

twenty-third year.'

Of the future career of the adventurous James Moody we unfortunately

know nothing.

[Illustration: Chapter 9 headpiece]

'OLD MINORCA;'

OR,

GENERAL MURRAY OF THE SCOTS FUSILIERS.

[Illustration: Chapter 9 tailpiece]

'OLD MINORCA;'

OR,

GENERAL MURRAY OF THE SCOTS FUSILIERS.

It is strange that the life of this old officer has found no place in

any biographical work; yet he was the successor of Wolfe at Quebec,

and as such completed the conquest of Canada. He defended Minorca,

and repelled with scorn De Crillon's offer of a million sterling to

betray that post; and who, when an old lieutenant-general, was

arraigned before a court-martial by the brilliant Sir William Draper,

whom he signally baffled.

James Murray was the fifth son of Alexander, fourth Lord Elibank, who

in 1698 married Elizabeth Stirling, daughter of a surgeon in

Edinburgh. Following the example of his elder brother Patrick, who

served as a colonel in the Carthagena Expedition under Lord Cathcart,

he betook him to a military life, and on the 5th January, 1750-51,

was lieutenant-colonel of the 15th Foot, then on the Irish

Establishment (Millans' Lists). During five years subsequently his

regiment was still serving in Ireland, and in 1757 he commanded in

Sir John Mordaunt's expedition to Rochefort. On this service ten

battalions of infantry sailed from the Isle of Wight on board

eighteen ships of the line, attended by frigates, fire-ships, and

bombketches, under Sir Edward Hawke and Admiral Knowles, on the 8th

September, 'attended,' says Smollett, 'with the prayers of every man

warmed with the love of his country and solicitous for her honour;'

but, like most of those buccaneering expeditions to the coast of

France which disgraced the reigns of the two first Georges, it proved

a failure.

The fortifications of Aix, an island at the mouth of the Charente,

and midway between Oleron and the mainland, were cannonaded, blown

up, and demolished, at the cost of a million of money; 'after which,'

says Smollett, 'the officers, in a council of war, took the final

resolution of returning to England, choosing rather to oppose the

frowns of an angry sovereign, the murmurs of an incensed nation, and

the contempt of mankind, than fight a handful of dastardly militia.'

Charged with disobedience of orders and instructions, Sir John

Mordaunt was arraigned at Whitehall before a court-martial, which sat

for six days, from the 14th to the 20th December, 1758. Among the

members were Lord Tyrawly, Brigadier Huske (who was engaged at

Falkirk), and Colonel William Kingsley, of Minden fame, the ancestor

of the author of 'Alton Locke.' Wolfe was a witness for the

prosecution, as was also 'Mr. Secretary William Pitt;' and among

those for the prisoner was Colonel Murray of the 15th, Cornwallis,

and the two admirals. By the court Mordaunt was unanimously

acquitted.

We next find James Murray at the capture of Louisbourg, in 1758.

('Records 21st Foot.')

Here the attacking force consisted of fourteen battalions of

infantry, with 600 provincials, and 300 artillery--13,094 men in all,

under Major-General Amherst. The place was taken by capitulation,

when the garrison, which consisted of 5,637 men (including the

battalions of Volontaires Etrangers, Cambize, Artois, and Burgundy),

under the Chevalier de Dracour, laid down their arms.

On the 24th of October, 1759, James Murray was made Colonel

Commandant of the 60th, or Royal Americans, and at the capture of

Quebec he served as brigadier in command of the left wing; and after

the fall of Wolfe and surrender of the city--the fortifications of

which were in tolerable order, though the houses were completely

demolished--he was left with a garrison of 5,000 men to defend it;

while the rest of the forces returned to Britain with the fleet,

which sailed soon, lest it should be locked up by ice in the River

St. Lawrence. ('Ramsay's Military Memoirs.')

In the spring of 1760, Monsieur de Levi, at the head of 13,000 men,

took the field and appeared on the Heights of Abraham, above Quebec,

when Murray, who had lost 1,000 men by scurvy, had but two courses

open to him--to march out and fight the enemy on the old

battle-ground, where the grave of Montcalm still lay, or stand a

siege within the ruins of the city. He chose the former, with equal

spirit and resolution, and coming out, with only 3,000 effective men

and twenty guns (says the 'Military Guide,' 1781), having to leave

the rest of his force to overawe the inhabitants.

His daring struck the enemy with surprise, when he came in sight of

them on the 28th of April, so vast was the disparity in force! He

found their first column advantageously posted on high ground covered

with trees, and their main body in line in its rear. He attacked the

first column with such fury and intrepidity that it was hurled in

disorder on the second which, however, stood firm, and received him

with a fire so close and well directed that his troops staggered

under it. The strength and weight of the French force were such that

his flank and even his rear were menaced, and after an obstinate

struggle, with the loss of 1,000 of all ranks, he was compelled to

fall back, but in good order, behind the walls of Quebec.

Undismayed, the ardour of his troops, who had only salt rations to

live upon, redoubled; and though the French began to invest the city

in regular form on the very evening of their victory, it was the 11th

of May before their guns opened. Murray had on the walls 132 pieces

of cannon, many of which he was unable to handle for want of men; and

with all his bravery he must have been compelled to surrender, had

not the arrival of Lord Colville's squadron in the St. Lawrence on

the 15th, and the destruction of the French fleet there by some of

his advanced frigates, so disheartened De Levi that he retired with

precipitation, abandoning all his provisions, stores, and artillery,

of which Murray instantly possessed himself.

Montreal was the only place of any consequence now held by France in

Canada. There General the Marquis de Vaudrieul, governor of the

province, commanded all that remained of the French army; and as a

portion of General Amherst's plan for its reduction, Colonel

Haviland, of the 45th Regiment, with the troops under his command,

took possession of an island in Lake Champlain, while General Murray,

at the head of all that could be spared from Quebec, came by water to

Montreal, which was attacked by 10,000 men, and capitulated in

September, 1760, after which the French lost all footing in America,

the operations in which were confined to Colonel Grant's expedition

against the Cherokees.

On the 10th July, 1762, Murray was gazetted major-general, and in the

following year was made Governor of Canada, the conquest of which he

completed and brought steadily under British sway. He was made a

lieutenant-general in May, 1772, in which year we find him Governor

of Minorca, with a salary of £730, and Sir William Draper, K.B.,

Lieutenant-Governor, with the same allowance. On the 10th February,

1783, he was made full general.

The British Government, anxious to have a naval station further up

the Mediterranean than Gibraltar, took possession of Minorca in 1708,

and it was confirmed to them by the Treaty of Utrecht, and remained

in possession of Britain till 1758, when it was taken by a French

fleet and army, after the failure of an attempt to relieve it, which

led to the tragic death of the unfortunate Admiral Byng. At the

peace of 1763 Minorca was restored to Britain, but in 1782 it was

retaken by the Spaniards, after a defence by General Murray which was

deemed one of the most brilliant military events of the age.

Long and narrow, it is thirty-two miles by eight in extent, with

Mount Toro in its centre, nearly 5,000 feet in height, and has two of

the finest harbours in the world, Fornella and Port Mahon, the latter

of which is defended by Fort St. Philip, on a rocky promontory of

difficult access from the land side.

Murray's garrison in Fort St. Philip consisted of only 2,692 men, of

which number, including the 51st Foot (under Colonel Pringle), only

2,016 were regulars, 200 seamen of the _Minorca_ sloop-of-war; and

400 of these were invalids--'worn-out soldiers,' as he states, sent

from Britain in 1775, and all were more or less unhealthy. 'The

officers of the four regular regiments,' says General Murray, in his

defence of himself, 'were in much better health than the privates.

This is easily accounted for, for all of them (viz., the British),

for _eleven_ years, lived on _salt_ provisions. The quantity of

vegetables they consumed and the wine they drank, though it prevented

the immediate efforts of scurvy, could not hinder it from tainting

the blood. The officers had, until we were invested, lived entirely

on fresh provisions, and even after, that we were confined to the

Fort, had wine and other refreshments bought at their own expense.

They likewise passed the day in the Castle Square, and were only at

night confined in the damp air of the _souterreins_; but even the

officers, with all these advantages, began to be infected.'

(_Political Magazine_, 1783.)

On Minorca being menaced by a siege, Murray sent his wife and family

to Leghorn, and, preparing for a vigorous defence, shut himself up in

Fort St. Philip, for hostilities had now begun with Spain (_Scottish

Register_, 1794). He scuttled and sank the _Minorca_ sloop-of-war at

the entrance of the harbour, to prevent the approach of the enemy's

ships, and on the 20th of August found himself blocked up by a French

and Spanish army, which landed in Minorca without opposition, to the

number of 16,000 men, under the Duc de Crillon, who took his title

from a village of that name in the Department of Vaucluse, and who

subsequently distinguished himself at the great siege of Gibraltar.

He was afterwards joined by six French battalions from Toulon, under

the Count de Falkenhagen.

So resolute was the defence made by General Murray, that the Duc de

Crillon soon began to despair of reducing the place, even with the

vast forces he had opposed to it, and secretly offered him (doubtless

by order of the King of France) the immense bribe of one million

sterling for the surrender of the fortress. Indignant at such an

insult, he addressed the following reply to the French commander:

FORT ST. PHILIP, _October_ 16, 1781.

'When your brave ancestor, so celebrated in the "Memoires" of Sully,

was desired by his sovereign to assassinate the Duc de Guise, he

returned the answer that you should have done when you were charged

to assassinate the character of a man whose birth is as illustrious

as your own, or that of the Duc de Guise. I can have no further

communication with you, but in arms. If you have any humanity, pray

send clothing for your unfortunate prisoners in my possession; leave

it at a distance to be taken for them, because I will admit of no

contact for the future, but such as is hostile to the most inveterate

degree.'

'Your letter,' replied the Duke, 'restores each of us to our place;

it confirms me in the high opinion I always had of you, and I accept

your last proposal with pleasure.'

As ammunition was becoming scarce, on the 15th of the same month the

general issued an order that cannon were not to be fired at single

men, for the younger officers of the garrison, becoming weary of

confinement, were wont to turn their guns 'at Bagats, or figures

dressed like men, which the enemy exhibited in ridicule of our

ineffectual firing,' and, curiously enough, this order was one of the

chief charges brought against him, by Sir William Draper, at a

subsequent time.

By the 5th of February Murray's garrison, by the ravages of

inveterate scurvy, was so reduced, that only 660 men were fit for

duty, and out of these 560 were tainted with the disease. 'No

words,' says Captain Schomberg, in his 'Naval Chronology,' 'can paint

the heroic valour and resolution of the brave troops of this

garrison, which had to capitulate.'

'Such was the uncommon spirit of the King's soldiers' (to quote the

Hon. James Murray's despatch), 'that they concealed their disorders

and inability, rather than go into hospital; several men died on

guard, after having stood sentry, their fate not being discovered

till called upon for the relief, when it became their turn to mount

again. Perhaps a more noble or more tragical scene was never

exhibited, than the march of the garrison of St. Philip through the

Spanish and French armies. It consisted of no more than 600 old and

decrepit soldiers, 200 seamen, 120 of the Royal Artillery, 20

Corsicans, and 25 Greeks, Turks, Moors, and Jews. The two armies

were drawn up in two lines, forming a way for us to march through;

they consisted of 14,000 men, and reached from the glacis to George

Town, where our battalion laid down their arms, declaring that they

had surrendered to GOD ALONE, having the satisfaction to know that

the victors could not plume themselves on taking a _hospital_. Such

were the distressing figures of our men, that many of the Spanish and

French troops are said to have shed tears as they passed them.'

His casualties were 108.

The Lieutenant-Governor of Minorca, Sir William Draper, K.C.B., a

famous officer in those days, the conqueror of Manilla (who erected

on Clifton Downs a beautiful cenotaph to the memory of the Old

English 79th Foot, disbanded in 1763), thought proper, on the return

of the garrison to Britain, to accuse General Murray of bad conduct

during the siege, of profusion and waste of money and stores, of

extortion, rapacity and cruelty. On these startling charges, the

general was brought before a court-martial at the Horse Guards, in

November, 1782, the proceedings of which were taken in shorthand by

Mr. Gurney. The President was Sir George Howard, K.B., and among the

members was Lieutenant-General Cyrus Trapaud, familiarly known as

'Old Trap,' the friend of Wolfe. 'In our attendance on this

court-martial,' says a print of the time, 'it struck us as an

uncommon circumstance, that although it was composed of very old

officers, and of long service, yet all appeared hale, vigorous, and

remarkably stout men, literally, to all appearance, fit to carry a

musket... General Murray appeared much broke, but had the remains of

a very stout man, he looked the old soldier! Sir William Draper

looked exceedingly well, and in the flower of his age. His star was

very conspicuous, and his left arm always so carefully disposed as

never to eclipse it.'

General Murray was fully and honourably acquitted of all the charges,

save two that were trivial, and for which he was sentenced to be

reprimanded, though he urged that his 'age and broken constitution,

worn out in the defence of Fort St. Philip,' were such that he

probably could serve his country no more. On the finding of the

Court being communicated to the King by the Judge Advocate, Sir

Charles Gould, he approved of 'the zeal, courage, and firmness with

which General Murray had conducted himself in the defence of Fort St.

Philip, as well as his former long and approved services,' and the

reprimand was dispensed with. His Majesty further expressed his

concern that such an officer as Sir William Draper should have

suffered his judgment to have become so perverted as to bring such

charges against a superior officer. The Court, apprehensive, from

some intemperate expressions made use of by the former to the latter

in a document, that the veterans would resort to their pistols,

prescribed a form of apology to be made use of by Sir William, and to

be acquiesced in by General Murray; but this affair, which in its day

made much noise in the military world and in London society, did not

quite end here, as the general was afterwards prosecuted by his

countryman, Mr. Sutherland, Judge Advocate of Minorca, for suspending

him in his office, and £5,000 damages were awarded him--a sum for

which he was reimbursed by the House of Commons.

On the 5th June, 1789, he was made colonel of 21st Royal Scots

Fusiliers; and died on the 18th of June, 1794, at Beaufort House,

near Bath, in Sussex, the seat of Sir James B. Burgess, Bart.,

Commissioner of Excise in Scotland. In military circles he was long

remembered as 'Old Minorca.'

He left an MS. diary of his defence of Quebec, which was in

possession of Mr. Robert Blackwood, publisher, of Edinburgh, in 1849,

but appears never to have been printed.

THE END.

BILLING AND SONS, PRINTERS, GUILDFORD AND LONDON.