Chapter IV: Brave Deeds of Self-Sacrifice and Devotion (5)

Clasping her boy, Madame Ladoinski burst into tears. For a few minutes she sat sobbing bitterly, but then, in the midst of her grief, she remembered that she was encroaching on the time of the officers before her. Controlling her tears as well as she was able, she asked for a safe-conduct for herself and child. As a Frenchwoman and the widow of a Polish rebel she would receive, she reminded her hearers, no mercy if she fell into the hands of the Russians. Her husband had fought for the French, and she claimed French protection. Instantly the two marshals declared that she should have the protection she asked, and Prince Eugène offered her a seat in a wagon that would accompany his division when it started in the course of a few days.

Madame Ladoinski accepted the offer with gratitude, whereupon the aide-de-camp was informed that she was to be placed in a baggage-wagon, and that the drivers were to be told that if their passengers did not reach the end of the journey in safety they would answer for it with their lives. On the other hand, if she arrived safely in Poland, and declared that she and her boy had been well-treated on the way, each driver would receive five hundred francs.

In a few days Madame Ladoinski was once again in a baggage-wagon; but Napoleon's 'Grand Army' was now in a terrible condition. Ragged, starving, dispirited by the constant harassing from the enemy, and the continuous marching through snow, it made but slow progress. The gloomy forests through which the miserable army tramped on its way to attempt the passage of the Beresina were blocked with snow, and so difficult was it to move the guns that Napoleon ordered that one half of the baggage-wagons were to be destroyed, so that the horses and oxen might be utilised for dragging forward the artillery. The wagon in which Madame Ladoinski rode was one of the number condemned to destruction, but the men who had been ordered to protect her speedily found room for her in another vehicle.

A day or two later, when the bedraggled army was nearing the Polish frontier, Madame Ladoinski was startled from her dejection by hearing loud joyful shouts, and on enquiring of the driver the reason of the noise she was told that a reinforcement under Marshal Victor had unexpectedly arrived.

Soon the reinforcements were passing the wagon, but Madame Ladoinski possessed neither the energy nor the curiosity to glance out at them. She could think of nothing but her dead husband and her little orphaned boy. But suddenly as she sat brooding over her great loss she heard, 'Forward, lancers!' uttered in Polish. Believing that it was her husband's voice she had heard, she sprang up and looked out at the troop trotting ahead. But she could not recognise her husband among the lancers, and she turned to sit down, believing that she was the victim of a delusion. To her surprise she saw her little son standing, with a finger uplifted to urge silence, listening eagerly.

'What is it, darling?' she asked.

'Father!' he replied.

Again Madame Ladoinski's spirits rose, but they fell quickly when she remembered that the Polish Lancers had quitted Smolensk before she and her boy arrived there. It was madness, therefore, to imagine that her wounded husband could be with Marshal Victor's army, and she dismissed the hope from her mind.

Days of terrible suffering for Napoleon's army followed, but eventually Studzianka, on the left bank of the Beresina, was reached, and the soldiers hoped that once in Poland their trials would diminish. Madame Ladoinski, her spirits reviving at the prospect of soon being in her husband's native land, lay listening to the noise of the men busily engaged in building the bridges over which the French army was to pass. Suddenly there was a tremendous uproar; shouts of joy, cries of triumph. Looking out Madame Ladoinski saw at once the cause of the excitement--the enemy who had been encamped on the opposite bank of the river was in full retreat. The fierce battle which she had dreaded, in case her boy might be injured, would not be fought. Falling on her knees in the wagon, she thanked God for averting the danger she feared.

Now that the Russians were gone, the cavalry swam their horses across the river, and took up a position that would protect the crossing of the foot soldiers. The bridges were completed at last, and quickly the ragged regiments hurried over them. The baggage-wagons were to be left until the last, and for hours Madame Ladoinski sat watching regiment after regiment hurry across. Napoleon, stern and silent, passed close to her, and a mighty shout of 'Vive L'Empereur' burst from his trusting, long-suffering troops, when he gained the opposite bank.

Soon after Napoleon had crossed, Prince Eugène came along, and seeing Madame Ladoinski he rode over to her, and told her cheerfully that she would soon be among her husband's friends, and that her trials would then be at an end. Then, turning to the drivers, he commanded them not to forget the order he had given concerning their behaviour and care of the lady entrusted to them.

When at last more than half the troops had crossed, the news arrived that the Russians had suddenly turned about and were marching back to the position they had vacated, while another strong body of the enemy was advancing to attack in the rear the troops which had not yet crossed. Instantly there was a panic, and the wagon-drivers, anxious for their own safety, turned Madame Ladoinski and her companions out of the wagon, so that their weight might not impede their progress. Madame Ladoinski reminded them of Prince Eugène's instructions, but they took no notice. Neither fear of punishment nor hope of reward had any influence over them now; they were anxious only for their own safety.

For a minute or two Madame Ladoinski knew not what to do. To attempt to cross either of the bridges on foot would, she soon saw, result in her and her child being crushed to death. Others, men and women, had come to the same conclusion, and were wandering, shivering with cold, along the bank of the river. These Madame Ladoinski hastened to, believing, as did they, that before long the bridges would be less crowded, and they would be able to cross in safety.

But soon the sound of the Russian guns was heard in the rear of Madame Ladoinski and her fellow-sufferers, and a little later the cheers of the advancing enemy could be heard distinctly. Marshal Victor's force, which lay between these unfortunate people and the Russians, fought gallantly at first, but at last they began to give way, and Madame Ladoinski feared that all was lost. Nearer and nearer came the enemy, and many of their musket balls reached the despairing creatures by the riverside. Approaching nearer to one of the bridges, Madame Ladoinski decided to join the crowd of terrified fugitives that was struggling across it. But before she reached it there was a terrible rush for it, and she stood aghast looking at the awful scene. Every one in the living mass was terrified, and each was fighting for his own life. Those who fell were quickly trampled to death by the hurrying mob, or crushed beneath the wheels of baggage-wagons and artillery. Now and again some terrified man, possessed of more than average strength, would be seen making his way along the crowded bridge by seizing and pitching into the river any who barred his way. And to add to the horror of the scene a terrible storm burst.

Madame Ladoinski, horrified by what she saw, decided to make no attempt to cross, but to remain where she was. Musket balls were now falling rapidly around her, and, to save her boy from the chance of being wounded, she laid him down on the ground, and placed herself in such a position that no ball could touch him unless it passed through her. Thick and fast the balls were flying, and Madame Ladoinski expected to receive at any minute a fatal wound, but, although men and women fell close around her, she remained unhurt.

Slowly but surely Victor's men were driven back on the crowd that was still struggling to cross the bridge, and whose condition was made still more awful by the Russian infantry firing on it.

At last some of the regiments fled in disorder before the advancing enemy, and a troop of horse dashed back within a few yards of Madame Ladoinski.

'Stand, lancers, stand!' the officer was shouting to his men, and his voice sent a thrill of joy through Madame Ladoinski, for it was her husband's.

She was confident of it this time, and almost immediately a strong gust of wind blew aside the smoke, which hung heavily over the battlefield, and there, not many yards away, was he whom she had believed to be dead. In stirring tones he called upon his men to charge once again into the ranks of the enemy.

'My love, my husband!' Madame Ladoinski called, still sheltering her boy with her body. 'It is I, it is Aimée.' But the din of warfare and the roaring of the wind drowned her voice. Again she called, but still he did not hear.

'Lancers! forward,' he shouted. 'For God and Poland! 'For God and Poland!' his men answered, and spurring their horses they dashed forward once more to meet the enemy. Ladoinski had not seen his wife, and perhaps he would never see her again! Madame Ladoinski wept quietly; but as night began to draw nigh she determined to cross the bridge, thinking that she and her boy might as well risk being crushed on the bridge as being shot by the enemy. But when she saw the crowd of human beings turned by terror into demons, she decided to remain where she was.

A few minutes later, as she lay protecting her boy and gazing at the struggling mob, she saw the largest bridge sway, and almost instantly it collapsed and fell, with its struggling mass of human beings, into the icy river. For a few minutes the terrified shrieks of the drowning men and women were heard even amidst the noise of battle and the roaring of the wind; then they ceased.

It seemed to Madame Ladoinski that there was to be no end to the terrors of that day. She felt that she was going out of her mind, and prayed that she and her boy might die quickly.

Throughout the night Madame Ladoinski lay beside her boy in the snow. But she did not sleep a minute. The thunder of the enemy's artillery, the sound of the musketry, and the noise of the disordered mob of soldiers who fought like demons to get safely across the one remaining bridge, would have prevented almost anyone from sleeping.

When daylight came the Russians were so near that it was clear to Madame Ladoinski that unless she crossed the bridge immediately she would soon be a prisoner. Lifting her boy, and sheltering him as much as possible, she hurried towards the bridge, but two or three times, when the enemy's fire increased in severity, she took cover for a few minutes. At last she reached the bridge. The crowd was not now great, and it would have been possible for her to cross without any fear of her boy being crushed, but no sooner had they put their feet on the bridge when shouts of 'Go back, go back! Give yourselves up to the Russians,' burst from their comrades who had already crossed the river. Stupefied, the people fell back, and almost at the same moment the last bridge burst into flames. To prevent the Russians from pursuing them, the French had burnt the bridge and left hundreds of their fellow countrymen to fall into the hands of the enemy.

The Cossacks, who were first of the Russian army to reach the river, were more eager for plunder than slaughter, and Madame Ladoinski fled along the river bank with her child pressed to her bosom. She had no idea of what to do, and for a time she escaped molestation. Then she decided to make an attempt to struggle through the river. She knew that there was very little probability of her being able to reach the other side, but it would be better for her and her little son to die than to fall into the hands of the semi-savage Cossacks. Tying her boy to her, so that the fate of one might be the other's, she approached the water; but on the brink she was seized by a Russian. Terrified, she screamed for help, and it was fortunate that she did so, for the remnants of the Polish Lancers--last to cease fighting the Russians--were entering the river not many yards away, and Captain Ladoinski heard her cries. Calling to his men to come back, he urged his horse up the bank, and galloped along the riverside until he came to his wife and child. The Russian fled at the approach of the Polish Lancers, and Captain Ladoinski lifted his wife and child on to his horse without recognising them. Then quickly he put his horse to the river, and soon they were plunging through it with the water sometimes more than half over them, and musket balls lashing the river around them.

Madame Ladoinski had recognised her husband the instant he placed her before him on his horse, and, overcome with joy, she had swooned before she could utter a word. He remained quite unconscious of whom he had rescued until, in mid-stream, the shawl which had been over his wife's head and shoulders slipped and disclosed her face. Joy did not cause the Polish captain to lose his wits, but made him more careful of his precious burden. He had been in a reckless mood, courting death in fact, during the last quarter of an hour of the fight, but now he was anxious to live. It would indeed be sad, he thought, if now, when safety was almost reached, a shot should lay him, or still worse, his wife, low. But on through danger the brave horse struggled with his heavy load, and soon Captain Ladoinski was able to place his wife and son on dry land, and to give them the warmth and food which they sadly needed.

Then when Madame Ladoinski had recovered from the excitement of again meeting her husband, he told her that he had long since been assured that both she and their boy were dead. He, as the wagon-drivers had sworn, had been thrown out of the wagon for dead, but some of his men came along soon after, and seeing him lying in the snow dismounted to see if he were alive. Finding that his heart was beating, they set to work and restored him to consciousness, and then took him on to Smolensk, whence he sent back to enquire after his wife and child. The message that was brought to him was that his wife and child had been murdered on the road. Believing this to be true, he went on with his regiment--before they arrived at Smolensk--with henceforth only one aim in life--to avenge Poland's wrongs.

The story of Captain Ladoinski's extraordinary rescue of his own wife and child created some excitement among Napoleon's soldiers, dispirited though they were by the terrible march they had undergone, and numerous and hearty were the congratulations which husband and wife received. Prince Eugène was one of the first to congratulate them, and Captain Ladoinski seized the opportunity to express his deep gratitude to the prince for the kindness he had shown to his wife in her sorrow, a kindness that was all the more creditable because Prince Eugène knew that Madame Ladoinski was a member of a Royalist family and an enemy of the Napoleonic dynasty. For some considerable time after the terrible retreat from Moscow, Captain Ladoinski fought in Prince Eugène's army, but when, at last, the Prince's military career came to an end he retired into private life. He had long since come to the conclusion that his wife was right when she said that Napoleon never had any intention of setting Poland free, but had obtained the services of the brave Poles under false pretences.

Madame Ladoinski deserved years of happy domestic life after her fearful experiences with the French army, and it is pleasant to be able to say that she had them. Until death parted them, many years later, she and her husband enjoyed the happiness of a quiet life unclouded by domestic or political troubles.

LADY SALE AND AN AFGHAN CAPTIVITY

'Fighting Bob' was the nickname affectionately bestowed upon Sir Robert Sale by his comrades-in-arms. Truly the name was well deserved, for wherever the fight was thickest there Sale was to be found, and the histories of his life abound with stories of his bravery and disregard of danger.

When twenty-seven years of age he married Florentia Wynch, a girl of nineteen, who proved before long to be almost as brave as he. Throughout his life she was his companion in danger, and many times nursed him back to health when seriously wounded. Adventures such as are rarely encountered by women were continually falling to her lot, but the greatest hardships which she was compelled to undergo were those attending the British retreat from Kabul in January, 1842.

Discontent with British rule had led to rebellion in Afghanistan, and Sir Robert Sale was sent with a brigade to clear the passes to Jelalabad. Lady Sale remained at Kabul, where the signs of discontent became daily more evident. The British native troops were disheartened, and eventually it was decided to retreat from the city.

At half-past nine in the morning of January 6, 1842, the British force, consisting of about 4500 soldiers, mostly native, and 12,000 followers, quitted Kabul. The snow lay a foot deep on the ground, and the thermometer registered several degrees below freezing-point. The bullocks had great difficulty in dragging the guns, and it took two hours and a half to cover the first mile. This slow rate of progress was not, however, entirely due to the state of the weather, as some of the delay was caused by a bridge of boats having to be made across the Kabul river, which lay about half a mile from the city. The camp followers refused to cross by any means but a bridge, but Lady Sale and her daughter, Mrs. Sturt, rode through with the horsemen. Immediately they reached the opposite bank their clothes froze stiff, and they could not change them for others, for as the rear-guard quitted the city the Afghans fired upon them and captured, without meeting any resistance, nearly the whole of the baggage, commissariat and ammunition. That night the British force, cold, hungry and dispirited, slept in the snow. There were no tents, but an officer erected a small pall over the hole in the snow where Lady Sale and her daughter lay.

At half-past seven on the following morning the march was resumed, but the force had not proceeded far when a party of Afghans sallied out from a small fort and carried off three guns. The British fought bravely, but the sepoys made scarcely any resistance, and hundreds of them fled for their lives.

As the British force advanced they saw the Afghans gathering in strength on either side, and before they had gone five miles they were compelled to spike and abandon two six-pounders, the horses not having sufficient strength to drag them. They were now in possession of only two guns and very little ammunition.

Men, hungry and numbed with cold, dropped out of the ranks, to be left to die from starvation, or to be massacred by the enemy. Another night was spent in the open, and when daylight came there were many frozen corpses lying on the ground. The troops were now utterly disorganised, and the Afghans continued to harass them, both while bivouacing and on the march. It was a terrible time, but Lady Sale was calm, and endeavoured to instil with courage other women of the party. Soon the British arrived at a spot where, some time previously, Sir Robert Sale had been wounded, and there a fierce attack was made upon them. A ball entered Lady Sales' arm, her clothes were riddled with bullets, and her escape seemed impossible, so fierce was the fire of the enemy, who were in a strong position about fifty yards distant. Nevertheless she did escape, but only to find that her daughter's husband, Lieutenant Sturt, had been mortally wounded. Five hundred soldiers and two thousand five hundred camp followers were killed, and many women and children were carried off by the Afghans. Others lay dying in the fast-falling snow.

Lady Sale and her daughter were in great distress at the death of Lieutenant Sturt, and took little interest in the proposal that all the women should be placed under the protection of Mahommed Akbar Khan, who had suggested this step. However, with the other women, they accepted the proffered protection, and were taken to a fort in the Khurd Kabul, and eventually they heard that the force with which they had quitted Kabul had been annihilated.

On January 17, Lady Sale and her companions, among whom were now several British officers whom Mahommed Akbar Khan had captured, arrived at Badiabad, where, in a small mud fort the party, consisting of 9 women, 20 men and 14 children, were kept prisoners. However, they were not molested, and as food of a kind was supplied to them, they did not complain. Their uncomfortable surroundings were, however, made more unpleasant by a series of earthquakes.

On February 19, Lady Sale was spreading some clothes out to dry on the flat roof of the fort, when a terrible shock occurred, causing the place to collapse. Lady Sale fell with the building, but rose from the ruins unhurt. Even the wounds received by her on the day Lieutenant Sturt was killed were not aggravated by the accident. Before dark that day there were twenty-five distinct shocks, and about fifteen more during the night. For some weeks after this they were constantly occurring. At one spot, not far away, 120 Afghans and 20 Hindus were buried in the ruins of buildings shaken to the ground.

During her captivity Lady Sale had been able to write letters to her husband, who was shut up with his garrison in Jelalabad, and her great desire was that he should be able to hold the place until relief arrived. On March 15 a rumour reached her that it had been captured by the Afghans, but to her great delight she heard later that the rumour was false. She was exceedingly proud of her husband, and gloried in his successes. A successful defence of the city would, she knew, add considerably to his reputation. During the following five months Lady Sale and her daughter were continually being moved from one place to another, and before long it became clear to them that the Afghan rebellion was being rapidly quelled. Rumours of British victories reached them, and the man who was in charge of them, while moving from place to place, made it understood that for Rs. 20,000 and Rs. 1000 a month for life he would effect their escape.

But soon, on September 15, the good news was received that the British were coming to their rescue, and, guided by the bribed Afghan, Lady Sale and her companions moved off secretly to meet them. Two days later they arrived at the foot of the Kalu Pass, where they met Sir Richmond Shakespeare, with 600 native horsemen, coming to their rescue.

Lady Sale was naturally anxious to hear of her husband's doings, and Sir Richmond Shakespeare was able to make her happy by telling her of how gallantly he had defended Jelalabad. Soon, however, she heard from his own lips the story of his defence. On September 19, a horseman arrived with a message from Sir Robert Sale, saying that he was advancing with a brigade. Lady Sale had been feeling weak for several days, but the news of her husband's approach gave her fresh strength.

'It is impossible to express our feelings on Sale's approach,' she wrote in her diary. 'To my daughter and myself happiness so long delayed as to be almost unexpected was actually painful, and accompanied by a choking sensation which could not obtain the relief of tears.'

The men loudly cheered Lady Sale and her daughter, and pressed forward to express their hearty congratulations at their escape. 'And then,' Lady Sale continued in her diary, 'my highly-wrought feelings found the desired relief; and I could scarcely speak to thank the soldiers for their sympathy, whilst the long withheld tears now found their course. On arriving at the camp, Captain Backhouse fired a royal salute from his mountain train guns; and not only our old friends, but all the officers in the party, came to offer congratulations and welcome our return from captivity.'

After a visit to England, Sir Robert and Lady Sale returned to India in March, 1844. Towards the end of the following year the Sikh War broke out, and at the battle of Mudki, fought on December 18, Sir Robert's left thigh was shattered by a grape shot, and he died three days later.

Lady Sale continued to reside in India after her husband's death, her comfort secured by a pension of £500 a year, granted to her by Queen Victoria, as a mark of approbation of her own and Sir Robert's conduct. She died at Cape Town, which she was visiting for the benefit of her health, on July 6, 1853, aged sixty-three.

ETHEL ST. CLAIR GRIMWOOD,

AND THE ESCAPE FROM MANIPUR

Until late in the last century it was a common thing for the ruler of a native Eastern state to celebrate his accession to the throne by slaughtering his brothers and uncles. This drastic measure reduced the possibilities of the new ruler being deposed, and was considered by the majority of the natives a wise precaution. The Maharajah of Manipur was more humane than many rulers, and although he had seven brothers, he refrained from killing any of them.

For several years the brothers lived on friendly terms with each other, but eventually quarrels arose through two of them wanting to marry the same woman. The eight brothers divided into two parties, and quarrelled so incessantly, that the maharajah deemed it wise to abdicate and leave the country. Mr. Grimwood the British Political Agent, did his utmost to dissuade the maharajah from abdicating, but without success. He departed, and one of his brothers became ruler.

Mr. Grimwood and his wife had lived for three years in Manipur when the maharajah abdicated, and during that time the natives had always been friendly towards them. Even the royal brothers, while quarrelling among themselves, maintained their usual friendly relations with them.

Manipur is an out-of-the-way place, lying in the heart of the mountainous region, which is bordered on the north by the Assam Valley, on the east and south by Burma, and on the west by the Cachar district. During the greater portion of their stay in Manipur Mr. and Mrs. Grimwood were the only white people in the place, and consequently the news that the Chief Commissioner was on his way to hold a durbar at the Residency afforded them much pleasure. But the information that his excellency was accompanied by 400 men of the 42nd and 44th Ghurkhas, made it clear that some political event of considerable importance was about to take place. The Chief Commissioner had, in fact, decided to arrest the jubraj, the maharajah's brother, at the durbar which was fixed for eight o'clock in the morning of March 23, 1891.

But the jubraj had his suspicions aroused by the military force which accompanied the Chief Commissioner. He did not attend the durbar, but sent a message to say that he was too unwell to be present. Four hours later, Mr. Grimwood was sent to the palace to inform the jubraj that he was to be arrested and banished, and to persuade him to surrender peacefully. This the jubraj refused to do, and consequently it was decided to storm the palace and capture him.

Fighting began on the following day, shortly before daybreak. The palace walls, some sixty yards from the Residency, and separated from it by an unfordable moat, were loop-holed, and soon a fierce fire was opened on the attackers. Mrs. Grimwood sought shelter in the little telegraph office, but bullets were soon crashing through it, and her position was one of extreme danger, but after the first fright she settled down to help the doctor attend to the wounded.

The British attack on the palace was not, however, successful, and the Manipuris crept round to the back of the Residency, and made an attack upon it. They were beaten off, but the British force was soon in a critical position; for, shortly after 4 o'clock, some big guns opened fire on the Residency, where the whole of the force was now concentrated. Mrs. Grimwood states in her book, _My Three Years in Manipur_, that the first shell fired at the Residency made her speechless with fear; but others who were present state that a few minutes later she was hard at work attending to the wounded under fire. The cellars under the Residency were used as a hospital, and terrible were the sights which the brave woman witnessed. Every hour the position of the British became more desperate. Men were falling quickly, and the ammunition was running out.

At last a message was sent to the jubraj asking on what conditions he would cease firing on the Residency. His reply was to the effect that the British must surrender unconditionally. Finding that the British would not agree to this, he sent word that if the Chief Commissioner would come to the palace gates he would discuss terms with him. His excellency and Mr. Grimwood went forward, but as they reached the gates they were pushed inside the palace enclosure, and the gates closed behind them. Then the Manipuris shouted that the white men were prisoners, and again opened fire on the Residency. The British troops replied, but their position was now critical. Very little ammunition remained, and shells were bursting over the Residency. One burst near to Mrs. Grimwood's feet, but fortunately she only received a slight wound in the arm.

At midnight the British officers decided to evacuate the Residency and retreat to Cachar.

Mrs. Grimwood being the only person who knew the way to the Cachar road, acted as guide, and led the retreating force through hedges, over mud walls, and across a river. Looking back when they had gone four miles, Mrs. Grimwood saw that the Residency, her home for three happy years, was in flames. Her husband a prisoner, and her home destroyed, it would not have been surprising if Mrs. Grimwood had been too grief-stricken to continue the journey on foot. But she plodded on bravely in her thin house-shoes, and with her clothes heavy with water. Sometimes the hills were so steep that she had to climb them on hands and knees, but she never complained, and did not hamper the progress of the force. Not until twenty miles had been covered did she have a rest, and then, thoroughly exhausted, she wrapped herself in the overcoats which the officers lent her, and lay down and slept.

A few hours later the retreating force, hungry, tired and somewhat dispirited, resumed its march. Mrs. Grimwood's feet were cut and sore, but she tramped on bravely in the military boots which had been given her to replace her thin worn-out shoes. They had now travelled beyond the country with which Mrs. Grimwood was familiar, and no one knew the way. They pushed on in the direction which they believed to be the right one, but without being able to obtain anything to eat. When, however, they had been two days without food, they came suddenly upon some Manipuri soldiers cooking rice. The Manipuris, taken by surprise, fled quickly, leaving their rice to fall into the hands of the starving British force.

Refreshed by the meal which they had so unexpectedly obtained, the British resumed their journey, but they had not gone far when they found a stockade barring their way. The defenders opened fire on them at once, and as the British had no ammunition they rushed the stockade, causing the Manipuris to run for their lives.

The British officers now decided to remain for a time in the captured stockade, but soon a large body of men was seen advancing towards it. Were they Ghurkhas or Manipuris? No one could tell, and reliance could not be placed on a bugle call, as both Ghurkhas and Manipuris had the same one. It was believed by the majority that the advancing men were Manipuris, and one of the officers told Mrs. Grimwood that he had two cartridges left, one for her and one for himself, if the men proved to be the enemy.

But they were not the enemy. A sharp-eyed man discovered a white officer among the advancing soldiers, and this was ample proof that they were Ghurkhas. A cheer from the stockade was answered by one from the approaching men, who were proceeding to Manipur, but had only heard a few hours before of the retreat of their comrades-in-arms. They had plenty of provisions with them, and quickly gave the tired, hungry men a good meal.

The remainder of the journey to the frontier was made in comparative comfort, but Mrs. Grimwood's trials were not yet ended. Soon the sad news of her husband's death was broken to her. He and his fellow prisoner had been executed with horrible brutality by order of the jubraj.

The story of Mrs. Grimwood's heroism in attending to the wounded under fire, and her bravery during the long and trying retreat, aroused admiration throughout the civilized world. In consideration of her exceptional services, the Secretary of State for India in Council awarded her a pension of £140 a year, and a special grant of £1000. The Princess of Wales--our present Queen--was exceedingly kind to her, and Queen Victoria invited her to Windsor Castle, and decorated her with the well-deserved Red Cross.

THREE SOLDIERS' WIVES IN SOUTH AFRICA

In December, 1880, a detachment of the 2nd Connaught Rangers was escorting a wagon-train, nearly a mile in length, from Leydenberg to Pretoria. Until more than half the journey had been travelled the Boers, whom the British met on the way, had shown no disposition to be unfriendly, but, one morning, as the convoy slowly wended its way up a hill, studded with clumps of trees, a strong force of Boers jumped out from their places of concealment and called upon the British to surrender. They sent forward, under a flag of truce, a written demand to that effect, but, seeing that the British officer in command had no intention to order his men to lay down their arms, they treacherously disregarded the white flag that was flying, and opened fire upon the convoy.

The British were caught in an ambush, and the Boers, who greatly outnumbered them, wrought terrible havoc. The Boers were concealed behind trees and stones, but the British could obtain scarcely any cover. Their colonel was mortally wounded early in the fight, and soon there was only one officer unhurt.

When the attack on the convoy began there were three women in one of the wagons. Mrs. Marion Smith, widow of the late bandmaster, was travelling down country, with her two children, to sail on a troopship for England. The other two women were Mrs. Fox, wife of the sergeant-major, and Mrs. Maistre, wife of the orderly-room clerk. Scarcely had the massacre begun when Mrs. Fox received a bullet wound as she sat in the wagon, and fell backwards, badly hurt.

Mrs. Smith and Mrs. Maistre were naturally alarmed at finding themselves suddenly in a position of such great danger. But they were soldiers' wives, and soon all fear vanished, and having made Mrs. Smith's children comparatively safe in a corner of the wagon they stepped out to render aid to the wounded. It was a terrible sight for them. The ground was strewn with dead and dying, and nearly every face was familiar to them. Regardless of the bullets that whizzed past them--one grazed Mrs. Smith's ear they tore up sheets to make bandages, and passing from one wounded man to another, stanched the flow of blood and bound the wounds.

At last, when it became clear to the mortally wounded colonel that the annihilation of his force would be the result of a continuation of the fight, the 'Cease fire' was sounded, and the outnumbered British delivered up their arms.

The soldiers' work was finished; Mrs. Smith and Mrs. Maistre had still much to do. On the battle-field the wounded lay thick, and for hours the two brave women worked at their self-appointed task. Many a dying lad had his last minutes made happy by their kindly words and actions.

From December 20 until March 31, 1881, the three women remained prisoners in the hands of the Boers. They might, had they cared to do so, have led lives of idleness during their imprisonment, but, instead, they were busy from morning until night nursing the wounded. Mrs. Fox's courage was indeed wonderful, for the wound she had received in the attack was very serious, and the doctors had told her that she could not expect to live long. Her husband, too, had been severely wounded early in the fight, but nevertheless she was as indefatigable as Mrs. Maistre and Mrs. Smith in doing good. The three women were adored by the wounded soldiers, for whom they wrote letters home, prepared dainty food, and read.

When peace was declared the three brave women returned to England, and Mrs. Smith was decorated with the medal of the Order of St. John of Jerusalem. She was reported, in the application that was made on her behalf, to have been 'unremitting in her attention to the wounded and dying soldiers during the action, and that her conduct while living under canvas was beyond all praise. She did the utmost to relieve the sufferings of the men in hospital, and soothed the last moments of many a poor soldier, while sharing their privations to the full.'

After a time Mrs. Smith's whereabouts became unknown to the authorities; they did not in fact know whether she were alive, and consequently she was not recommended for the Red Cross. Mrs. Fox and Mrs. Maistre received the coveted decoration, but the former did not long survive the honour. She died in January, 1888, at Cambridge Barracks, Portsmouth, and in making her death known to the regiment the colonel said:--'Mrs. Fox died a soldier's death, as her fatal illness was the result of a wound received in action, and aggravated in consequence of her noble self-devotion afterwards.'

The Commander-in-Chief--H.R.H. the Duke of Cambridge--ordered that military honours should be paid to the dead woman. It was a very unusual thing, but the honour was well-merited, and crowds lined the streets to see the coffin borne past on a gun carriage. Over the coffin was laid a Union Jack, and on this was placed the brave woman's Red Cross. The men who bore her from the gun carriage to her grave in Southsea Cemetery were six non-commissioned officers who had been wounded in the fight of December 20, 1880, and whom she had nursed.

* It is interesting to note that the publication of this volume quickly led to Mrs. Smith (now Mrs. Jeffreys) being traced; and, in response to an appeal to the War office, the authorities awarded the heroine the coveted decoration of the Royal Red Cross.

IV.

BRAVE DEEDS OF SELF-SACRIFICE AND DEVOTION

ELIZABETH ZANE, A FRONTIER HEROINE

'The Indians are coming!'

It was on September 1, 1782, that a scout employed to watch the movements of the Red Indians rushed into the West Virginian village of Wheeling, shouting the dreaded warning of the savages' approach. Instantly the inhabitants took refuge in the fort, and prepared to offer a determined resistance. The fort had no regular garrison, it being the duty of the settlers to defend it. Colonel Silas Zane took command, and felt confident that, although he had only twenty men under him, he would be able to beat off the savages.

The Governor of Wheeling was Colonel Ebenezer Zane, and with two white men he decided to remain in his private residence, which was about forty yards from the fort, to prevent the ammunition which was stored there from falling into the hands of the Indians. The scout who had brought the news of the Indians' approach was soon followed by the savages themselves, who, brandishing their tomahawks and waving their scalping-knives, instantly demanded the surrender of the white men. The reply they received was a volley fired at the standard which they bore aloft. With a terrible war-whoop the Indians rushed to the assault, but the men in the fort and in the house were good shots, and it was rarely that one of them missed his mark. Happily, there was a good stock of arms in both strongholds, and taking advantage of this, the women loaded the muskets and handed them to the men, who were thus enabled to fire quickly and were spared the fatigue of loading.

Again and again the Indians attacked the house and the fort, but on every occasion they were driven back. When darkness came on the attacks ceased, but the white men did not grow less vigilant, for they were confident that before daybreak the savages would make an attempt to surprise them. And this proved to be the case. In the dead of night one of the defenders espied an Indian crawling towards the house. He watched him until he rose to his feet and kindling a torch that he carried, attempted to set fire to the building. Then the watcher fired, and the Indian dropping his torch fled, wounded.

At daybreak it was seen that the Indians were still surrounding the fort and the house, and that they were evidently unusually excited. Could they have captured any of the defenders? Enquiries shouted from the fort to the house elicited the assurance that no one was missing.

Suddenly there was a tremendous explosion at the spot when the Indians were thickest, and the surprised white men could see that several of the enemy had been killed and many injured. The explosion was caused in this way: On the preceding evening, after the firing had ceased, some of the Indians surprised a boat ascending the river with cannon balls for the fort. The boatman escaped, but the cannon balls fell into the hands of the Indians, who believed that all they now wanted to demolish the house and fort was a cannon. Therefore they decided to make one. They procured a log of wood, bound it tightly with chains, and then made a hole in it large enough to admit the ball. Then they charged it heavily, and when it was pointed towards the fort the match was applied. Instantly the cannon burst, killing many of the men who stood near and injuring others.

This accident did not, as one might suppose, dishearten the Indians. On the contrary, it excited them to further efforts to capture the whites. Maddened with excitement they rushed boldly forward to the attack, but the steady, deadly fire which the defenders maintained drove them back time after time.

But now the defenders in the fort began to get anxious, for their stock of gunpowder was nearly exhausted. There was a plentiful supply at the house, and someone would have to undertake the perilous task of running to it and returning under fire with a keg of powder. There were plenty of volunteers for this dangerous undertaking, but among them was a woman--Elizabeth Zane, the youngest sister of the two Colonels Zane. She had been educated in Philadelphia, and until her arrival at Wheeling, a few weeks previously, had experienced none of the hardships of frontier life. But now, in the hour of danger, she was brave as if she had been brought up in the midst of stirring scenes.

It was pointed out to her that a man would run less risk than she, from the fact of his being able to run faster; but she answered that if he were shot in the act, his loss would be severely felt. 'You have not one man to spare, she declared. 'A woman will not be missed in the defence of the fort.'

The men did not like the idea of allowing her to run so great a risk, but she overcame their objections, and started on her perilous journey.

The moment the gate was opened she bounded through, and ran at full speed towards the house. Surprised at her sudden appearance in the open, the Indians seized their muskets, but quickly recognizing that she was a woman they exclaimed, 'Only a squaw,' and did not fire.

Arriving at the house she announced to Colonel Ebenezer Zane the object of her journey, whereupon he fastened a table-cloth around her waist, and emptied a keg of powder into it.

The moment that she appeared again in the open, the Indians noticed the table-cloth around her waist, and, guessing at once that she was carrying to the fort something that was necessary for its defence; promptly opened fire on her. Undeterred by the bullets which whizzed past her Elizabeth Zane ran quickly towards the fort; and reached it in safety. It is needless to say that the brave young woman received an enthusiastic greeting from the garrison who had witnessed with admiration her daring act.

The defenders of the fort, their stock of ammunition replenished, fought with renewed confidence when the Indians again attacked, and repulsed them with a deadly fire. As time went on the assaults became less frequent, and on the third night they finally ceased. The task of massacring the settlers of Wheeling had, contrary to the Indians' expectation, been too formidable for them, and therefore they raised the siege and crept quietly away by night. Their losses had been great, but during the three days' fighting the casualties of the defenders were only two men wounded.

NELLIE AMOS, A FRIEND IN NEED

In the tiny cabin of a canal-boat which had but recently started on its long journey from the Midlands to London, lay a woman seriously ill. And by her side lay her two days' old baby. Her husband was on deck steering the boat, but every few minutes he hurried down to see if there were anything he could do to make his wife comfortable. He could do but little, however.

Never before had he felt so helpless; never had he experienced so acutely the isolation of barge-life. The district through which he was travelling was thinly populated, and to obtain a doctor the bargeman would have to trudge some miles across country, leaving his wife alone on the canal. He could not leave her unattended, and consoled himself with the hope that before long he would meet someone whom he could send for a doctor. But he was disappointed; he met no one.

At last he arrived at Stoke Bruerne, in Northamptonshire, and, having tied up his barge, hurried to the post-office--a little general shop kept by Mrs. Nellie Amos, who was well-known to the canal boatmen. He told her of his wife's illness, and asked her if she would be good enough to come to his barge and see if she could discover the nature of her illness. Without the slightest hesitation Mrs. Amos accompanied the man to his barge, and found his wife very feverish.

Mrs. Amos could not discover what was the matter with the invalid, but one thing was very plain to her--the poor woman could not be expected to get well in her present quarters. The cabin was low-roofed, about eight feet by six in size, and near the door stood the stove in which the meals were cooked. In such close quarters the sick woman had little chance of recovery, and Mrs. Amos did not conceal this fact from the husband. She told him also that if a doctor would certify that she could be removed with safety, she would take her to her house and nurse her and the baby. As soon as the bargeman hurried away to fetch a doctor, Mrs. Amos made the sick woman some beef-tea, tidied the bed, and took charge of the baby.

The doctor was soon with the patient, and, having examined her, gave his permission for her removal to Mrs. Amos's house, to which she was quickly taken. Mrs. Amos had a husband and six children, and her house was a small one; but nevertheless she was able to give the mother and baby a comfortable room. Day after day she nursed them tenderly, but to her surprise the mother did not show any signs of improvement. The doctor came regularly to see her, and one day, when he had been attending her for about a week, he announced that she was suffering from small-pox.

For a few minutes Mrs. Amos was overcome with horror at the danger to which she had unintentionally subjected her six children. Nearly all of them had nursed the baby and waited on the sick woman, and it seemed to her certain that they would be stricken down with the disease. It would probably spread through the village, and she would be the cause of the sorrow that would ensue.

These fears she soon overcame, and bravely faced the danger. She declared that she would not have the poor creature removed from the house unless the doctor insisted upon it, and that she would continue to nurse her. The patient was allowed to remain, but steps were, of course, taken to guard against the disease spreading. The shop was closed, and Mrs. Amos's only means of earning a living was gone, at any rate for a time. Her children were sent away, and watched carefully for any signs of the disease appearing in them. Anxiety concerning her own family and the loss occasioned by the suspension of her business might well have made her willing to hand over to the local medical authorities the innocent cause of her trouble. But Mrs. Amos would not relinquish her self-imposed duty. She nursed mother and child as tenderly as if they had been her relatives, and if it had been possible to save their lives they would have been saved. The child died, and a week later the woman herself passed away. Happily, neither Mrs. Amos nor any of her children contracted the disease.

'I prayed earnestly that God would spare the village,' Mrs. Amos told the writer of this book, 'and He did. Not one case resulted from it.'

It was some time before the little shop was re-opened, but many people, hearing of Mrs. Amos's bravery, came forward to help her tide over her difficulties. The landlord set a good example by sending her a receipt for rent which she had been unable to pay, and several Brentford ladies, having been told of her conduct by Mr. R. Bamber, the London City missionary to bargemen, presented her with a tea and coffee service.

ANNA GURNEY, THE FRIEND OF THE SHIPWRECKED

Anna Gurney was a cripple from her birth. Unable to walk, and consequently debarred nearly all the pleasures of childhood, it would not have been surprising had she become a sad, peevish woman. The fact that her parents were rich, and able to supply her with comforts such as poor cripples could not receive, may have prevented her from becoming depressed, but it must be remembered also that the knowledge that they were in a position to give her every reasonable pleasure a girl could desire might well have caused her to be continually deploring her crippled condition.

She did not, however, brood over her infirmity, and although she was never entirely free from pain, she was always bright and happy. Intellectually clever, she was ever anxious for self-improvement, and her knowledge of languages was remarkable. No sooner had she become thoroughly conversant with one than she began to learn another.

Early in life she became deeply interested in foreign missions, and in after years was a generous supporter of them. Her desire to do good was not, however, satisfied by the money she gave to various societies, and being unable to offer herself as a missionary to the heathen, she found a sphere of usefulness in working to improve the moral and spiritual condition of the poor of Cromer. She invited the mothers to her home, North Repps Cottage, and held classes for young men, young women and children. Humble visitors were continually calling to tell her of their joys or sorrows, and were never refused admittance. She might be busy in her library or suffering acute pain, but with a bright smile she would wheel herself forward in her mechanical chair to greet her visitor.