Her Majesty gives me the Red Cross—I go to Windsor and see
her Majesty—The Princess of Wales expresses a wish to see
me—Conclusion.
Little remains now to be added to the record of my three years in
Manipur, and escape from the Mutiny. Mr. Grant is now a major and a V.C.,
and never were honours more bravely won. England has given me unstinted
praise, and her Majesty has honoured me of her own accord with the Red
Cross, of which I am proud to be the possessor.
Shortly after my arrival in England in June, I was invited to Windsor
and had an audience of her Majesty, during which I related some of my
experiences, which, I believe, interested her. The Red Cross is an honour
doubly valuable as having been presented to me by her Majesty in person;
but the warm interest she has since been pleased to take in me I look
upon as an equally great honour, and my visit to the Queen at Windsor
will for ever be remembered as a red-letter day in my existence.
Before I had been many days in England, the Princess of Wales was also
kind enough to express a wish to see me, and her royal highness has
honoured me greatly by interesting herself in me in many ways; so that
though I have lost much, I have received great sympathy; and I know that
there are few hearts in England who have not felt for me in my trouble.
But sometimes the thought of the future, and the fate in store for me,
seems very dark and dreary. Few of us are without ambitions, and I had
mine in the days that are gone; but when they have all been destroyed at
one blow, it is difficult to raise up new ones to take the place of the
old—difficult to battle for one’s self in this eager, hurrying world,
when one has grown accustomed to having someone always ready and willing
to battle for one; and difficult to accustom myself to a lonely, solitary
existence, after four years of close companionship with one whose sole
wish was to make my life happy.
Ah, well! life, after all, does not last for ever, and maybe some day
we shall awake to find ourselves in a different sphere, where our lost
ambitions may be realized, and where disappointment and death have no
part.
In this book I have endeavoured to avoid writing anything which may be
construed into an accusation or insinuation against any of the persons
concerned, whether they be alive or dead. Far be it from me to speak of
blame, or to attempt to place any extra responsibility on any one person.
It is not in my power to do so, and if it were, I should hesitate.
We know that those five brave men sacrificed their lives sooner than
listen to the terms of ignominy and disgrace proposed by their
victorious enemies. The touching answer given when the ungenerous
proposal was made to them shows that they never wavered from their
duty. ‘We cannot lay down our arms,’ they said, ‘for they belong to
Government.’ And each one met his death bravely for the honour of England.
I have since heard of the escape of most of our servants. They were made
prisoners and kept by the Jubraj in gaol for some time, but released
before the arrival of the troops. Mr. Melville’s sad fate filled all with
horror, and seemed doubly hard as he had never had anything to do with
Manipur before this year, 1891, but merely happened to be in the place at
the time.
A new Rajah has been appointed now on an entirely different footing. He
is only a little fellow of five years old, a descendant of some former
monarch, and it will be many years yet before he can govern the country
and the people, and restore the old feelings of peace which existed
between our Government and Manipur.
Those by whose orders Mr. Quinton and his companions were murdered have
paid the penalty by forfeiting, some their lives, and others their
liberty, and order is once more restored.
But in more than one home in England there is sorrow for those who are
not. Their vacant places can never be filled up, even though in time,
when the grass has grown green above them, we shall learn to think of
them not as dead, but as living elsewhere purer, truer, freer lives,
unhampered by the sorrows and cares of this world.
Time may, perhaps, do that for us, but meanwhile hearts will ache, and
longings will arise for ‘the touch of a vanished hand, and the sound of
a voice that is still,’ and the hard lesson will have to be learned that
nothing is our own—no, not even those who seem part of our very lives,
around whom all our tenderest interests and highest hopes cling.
Well for us if, in learning the lesson, we keep our faith and trust in
the Being for whose pleasure we were created, and whose right it is to
demand from us what we value most. And if, when our time comes, and we
look back across the vista of years at all the disappointments and all
the sorrows, which, after all, outweigh the happiness in our lives, we
can say, ‘It was all for the best,’ then the lesson will not have been
learnt in vain, and it will indeed be well with us.
FOOTNOTES
[1] The hooluck is a black monkey, peculiar to Assam.
[2] Dhotee—the usual dress a native wears instead of trousers.
[3] Pundit—tutor or interpreter, who will coach you in a language.
[4] Khitmutghar—butler, table-servant.
[5] Bazaar—market.
[6] Belat—England.
[7] Khud—precipice, cliff.
[8] Thoppa wallah—bearer, or man who carries Thoppas.
[9] Nautch—ball.
[10] Mahout—driver.
[11] Doolies—a sort of palanquin, made of cane, in which people are
carried.
[12] Ghuddi—throne.
[13] Myouk—a civil officer in Burmah corresponding to an extra assistant
commissioner in other parts of India.
[14] Shikari—sportsman, or a man who will go out shooting for you or with
you.
[15] Baboo—native clerk.
[16] Kahars—hospital assistants.
[17] Bunnias—grain-sellers, provision merchants.
[18] Dhan—rice.
[19] Daôs—knives.
[20] Sais—groom.
[21] Peg—whisky and soda.
[22] Godowns—storehouses.
[23] Babu—office-clerk; used here as a term of contempt.
[24] 2nd-4th—2nd Battalion 4th Ghoorkas.
THE END.
BILLING AND SONS, PRINTERS, GUILDFORD.
_J. D. & Co._
[Illustration]