Mr. Brackenbury—Scenes in the little cellar—Destruction of our
home—Another moonlight night with a difference—Reopening of the
attack on the Residency—Death of Mr. Brackenbury—Preparations
to escape.
I remained where he had left me, alone for some minutes, though some
of the officers were standing just outside the door of the cellar
where I was sitting. It seemed so hard that I could not go with my
husband. I feared being left alone without him, and felt very lonely and
broken-hearted among so many men, mostly strangers to me. I knew, too,
that they would look upon me as an extra burden, and wish me very far
away.
I was roused to action by the doctor, who had taken advantage of the
truce to get his wounded brought up from the hospital to the house,
and had come up first to see what kind of a place could be got ready. I
showed him the cellars, for there were several, which all communicated
with each other, and formed the entire basement of the house.
Shortly afterwards the Kahars[16] arrived, carrying poor Mr. Brackenbury
on a mattress, and the others followed fast, so that the small cellar was
very soon quite full of men lying side by side on the stone floor. The
blankets and sheets that we had already collected were very useful, and
I made several journeys up to the house, and gathered up every kind of
covering from every direction, and all the pillows I could find. A little
cooking-stove proved of great service. I fixed it securely upon a table
in one corner which I reserved for cooking operations.
The soup we had made on the previous day was in great request.
Fortunately there was a large quantity of it, to which I added the
contents of five or six tins which I found in the store-room. Milk was
the difficulty. All the cows were out in the grounds, and many of them
had strayed away altogether and we could not get any milk from them, so
were obliged to fall back on condensed milk, of which we also had several
tins.
Some of the men were terribly wounded, but poor Mr. Brackenbury was by
far the worst. His legs and arms were all broken, and he had several
other injuries besides. It seemed a marvel that he was still alive and
fully conscious to all that was going on around him. The doctor attended
to him first of all, and had bound up his broken limbs, and done as much
as possible to alleviate his sufferings; but it was a terrible sight to
see the poor lad in such agony, and be so powerless to lessen it in any
way. He was very thirsty, and drank a good deal of soup and milk, but we
could not get him into a comfortable position. One minute he would lie
down, and the next beg to be lifted up; and every now and then his ankle
would commence bleeding, and cause him agony to have it bound up afresh.
His face was gray and drawn, and damp dews collected on his forehead from
the great pain he was suffering.
That scene will never be forgotten—the little cellar with a low roof, and
the faces of the wounded lying together on the floor. We did not dare
have a bright light for fear of attracting attention to that particular
spot, and the doctor did his work with one dim lantern. Such work as it
was, too! Every now and then he asked me to go outside for a few moments
while the dead were removed to give a little more space for the living.
There were some terrible sights in the cellar that night—I pray I may
never see any more like them; but being able to help the doctor was a
great blessing to me, as it occupied my attention, and gave me no time
to think of all the terrible events of the day, and the wreck of our
pretty home. I was very weary, too—in fact, we all were—and when at about
half-past ten I asked everybody to come and get some sort of a dinner,
they seemed much more inclined to go to sleep, and no one ate much.
The dinner was not inviting, but it was the best that could be got under
the circumstances, for I had had to do it all myself. One or two of the
servants still remained, but they cowered down in corners of the house,
and refused to move out or help me at all. Perhaps had we known that it
was our last meal for nearly forty-eight hours, we should have taken care
to make the most of it; but no thought of what was coming entered our
minds, and long before the melancholy meal was ended most of the officers
were dozing, and I felt as though I could sleep for a week without waking.
We all separated after dinner about the house. I went back to the
hospital for a little, and found the doctor wanted more milk, so I
returned to the dining-room, where I was joined by Captain Boileau, and
we sat there for some time mixing the condensed milk with water, and
filling bottles with it, which I took downstairs. It was quieter there
than it had been. The wounded had all been attended to, and most of them
had fallen asleep. Even Mr. Brackenbury was dozing, and seemed a little
easier, and only one man was crying out and moaning, and he was mortally
wounded in the head. So finding I could do no more there, I went upstairs
again, resolving, if possible, to go to my room and lie down for a little
while and sleep, for I was very tired.
I went sorrowfully through our once pretty drawing-room, where everything
was now in the wildest confusion, and saw all the destruction which had
overtaken my most cherished possessions. There are those who imagine that
in a case like this a woman’s resource would be tears; but I felt I could
not weep then. I was overwhelmed at the terrible fate which had come
upon us, and too stunned to realize and bewail our misfortunes.
Perhaps the great weariness which overcame me may have helped me to look
passively on my surroundings, and I walked through the house as one in a
dream, longing only to get to some haven of rest, where I could forget
the misery of it all in sleep.
I wended my way to the bedroom through a small office of my husband’s,
but when I reached the door I found it would not open, and discovered
that part of the roof had fallen in, caused by the bursting of a shell.
So I gave up the idea of seeking rest there, and retired to the veranda.
I went down the steps and stood outside in the moonlight for a few
minutes. It was a lovely night, clear and bright as day! One could
scarcely imagine a more peaceful scene. The house had been greatly
damaged, but that was not apparent in the moonlight, and the front had
escaped the shells which had gone through the roof and burst all round at
the back. The roses and heliotrope smelt heavy in the night air, and a
cricket or two chirped merrily as usual in the creepers on the walls.
I thought of the night before, and of how my husband and I had walked
together up and down in the moonlight, talking of what the day was to
bring, and how little he had thought of such a terrible ending; and I
remembered that poor lad lying wounded in the cellar below now, who only
twenty-four hours ago had been the life and soul of the party, singing
comic songs with his banjo, and looking forward eagerly to the chances of
fighting that might be his when the morning came.
I wondered where my husband was, and why they had been away so long. They
would be hungry and tired, I thought, and might have waited to arrange
matters till the next day, as they had apparently been successful in
restoring peace. I had an idea of wandering as far as the gate to see
whether the party was visible, but on second thoughts I went back into
the veranda, and resolved to wait there until my husband should return.
There was one of the officers asleep in a chair close to me, and I was
about to follow his example, when Captain Boileau came out, and I went to
him and asked him if he would mind going down to the gate and finding out
whether he could hear or see anything of the Chief Commissioner’s party,
and if he came across any of them to say I wanted my husband. He went off
at once, and I fell into a doze in the chair.
It was about twelve o’clock at this time. I do not know how long I had
been asleep, when I was awaked suddenly by hearing the deafening boom of
the big guns again, and knew then that it was not to be peace.
For a few seconds I could not stir. Terror seemed to have seized hold of
me, and my limbs refused to move; but in a minute I recovered, and ran
through the house down to the cellar again, where everyone had become
alive to the fact that all was over for us. Where was my husband? What
had become of them all? This thought nearly drove me mad with anxiety.
I could not imagine what their fate had been, but I knew the anguish of
mind my husband would endure when the sound of those terrible guns would
tell him that we were being attacked again, as he knew we were almost
powerless to make any resistance, through lack of ammunition.
We knew that our one chance lay in retreating, as that move had been
meditated by Colonel Skene early in the evening, before the truce had
taken place; so after an hour had gone by the doctor began moving the
wounded out of the cellar, as an immediate retreat had been decided upon.
We were still without any definite tidings of the position of Mr. Quinton
and my husband, and the other officers who had accompanied them, and our
anxiety on their behalf increased every hour.
It took a long time to get all the wounded on to the grass outside. Mr.
Brackenbury was moved first. Poor lad! he begged so hard to be left in
peace where he was, and the moving caused him terrible agony. One by
one all the poor fellows were helped out, until only a few remained. I
gave my arm to one of these, and we were going out through the cellar
door, when we were met by four Kahars, carrying someone back into the
hospital. The moonlight shone down upon them as they came, and lit up the
white face of him they carried, and I saw that it was Mr. Brackenbury.
The movement had killed him, and he had died on the grass outside a few
seconds after leaving the cellar. Better thus than if he had lived a few
hours longer to bear the pain and torture of our terrible march; but it
made one’s heart ache to leave that young lad lying there dead, alone in
the darkened cellar. I went back there just before we left the place, and
covered him up gently with a sheet that was lying on the ground, and I
almost envied him, wrapped in the calm slumber of death, which had taken
all pain and suffering away.
I had no hope that we should ever succeed in making our escape, and it
seemed almost useless even to make the attempt. All was ready, however,
by this time for our departure, and I went out too, hoping that the
Manipuris would soon set fire to the house, which would prevent any
indignities being heaped upon the dead by their victorious enemies.
Outside the noise was deafening. Shells burst around us at every turn,
and kept striking the trees and knocking off great branches. All idea of
going up into the house had to be abandoned, so I could not get a hat or
cloak or anything for the journey before us, and had to start as I was.
Just before lunch-time I had taken off the close-fitting winter gown
which I had put on in the morning, and instead had arrayed myself in a
blue serge skirt and white silk blouse, which gave me more freedom for my
work in the hospital. I could not have chosen better as far as a walking
costume went, and should have been all right if only I had been able to
collect a few outdoor garments—hat, cloak, and boots, for instance. As
things happened, I was wearing on my feet thin patent leather slippers,
which were never meant for out-of-door use, and my stockings were the
ordinary flimsy kind that women generally wear. My dress had got soiled
already in the hospital, and was not improved by the march afterwards;
but I managed to get it washed when we eventually reached British
territory, and have it by me to this day. It will be preserved as an
interesting relic.