"'I condemned ye not, children of darkness,' said the priest, wiping away the blood from his eyes, and raising his tall, fine figure to its utmost height, his grey hair streaming on the wind. 'I would have saved ye from the evil one, whose prey ye are. Ye cannot harm me,' and a smile of withering scorn settled down upon his lips.

"From the skirts of the crowd to its centre, the whole became one seething, boiling ma.s.s. Knives gleamed in the sunshine. One moment Father Guy stood there, firm and erect, a smile of quiet scorn on his lips, and the fresh, breeze from the sea playing through his scanty grey hair and over his shaven crown; the next his body was whirling above men's heads, it was pulled to and fro, torn here and there, until at length it was rived, piecemeal, by the infuriated crowd, and the Roman Catholic faith died out with the House of Penrhyn in Creuddyn."

The tale was told, the speaker ceased, and for a moment all was silence, for the story had been a melancholy one.

The sharp angry bark of a dog was heard, then a step crushing the gravel as some one advanced.

"The postman, Isabel," exclaimed Hughes, springing to his feet with renewed energy; "now for news!"

But there was only a paper and one letter, and both bore the Calcutta postmark.

"I know not a soul in the Presidency," said Hughes, as he turned the letter, which was a very bulky one, listlessly in his hand. "I dare say it will keep."

"Well, if you find it so fatiguing to read your own letters, at least read me the paper."

The soldier tore the band and flung it from him, shaking out the sheet, and then threw himself on the ground in the same indolent att.i.tude.

"What news will interest you, Isabel?" he asked; but before the reply could be given, his eye fell on the column headed "Latest Intelligence,"

and all traces of apathy disappeared as if by magic, the words "Ma.s.sacre at Cawnpore," "Atrocities committed by Nana Sahib," meeting his eye.

"Why, what is the matter, Enrico?" asked Isabel, laying down her work in alarm, for his eyes literally blazed with fury, as he s.n.a.t.c.hed up the despised letter, and tore it open, reading therein the details of the terrible ma.s.sacre of Cawnpore.

"And where is Cawnpore?" asked Isabel.

"It is a large station on the right bank of the Ganges, where a European force is generally quartered, and in whose neighbourhood a large number of my countrymen live. The native troops have revolted, murdered their English officers, while the trusted friend of the British, Nana Sahib, has seized the treasury, joined the rebels, and the revolt spreading, India has thrown off our rule, while the handful of English are being murdered piecemeal."

"Surely, you mean killed in open warfare, Enrico? In our days people are not murdered wholesale," said Isabel, opening her eyes widely with horror and astonishment.

"Listen to my letter, Isabel. It is from an old friend and officer of my own regiment, and after telling me that the corps has been ordered to join Sir Henry Havelock's force, it says:--

"'The proceedings at Cawnpore are a blot on humanity. The women, children, and sick were placed in barracks, which it was thought the enemy would respect. Their guns thundered night and day on Wheeler's entrenchments, held only by a handful of men against the rebel army; but, not content with this, they threw carca.s.ses filled with powder on to the thatched roof which they knew covered the defenceless women, burned it and them, shouting and laughing when they saw the flames.'"

"How horrible!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Isabel.

"Ay: but this is not all," continued Hughes, reading on. "'Without water, without provisions, the cruel Nana offered terms, offered life and liberty. They were accepted, and then, in detail, the soldiers having laid down their arms, were murdered.'"

Hughes put down the letter, and a sorrowful silence ensued. He was thinking of his late months of idleness, while such events had been pa.s.sing around him, and thinking of them, too, with regret.

Isabel was meditating also, but her thoughts were turned on the future, and on her husband's duty.

Hughes again took up the letter. "'They who met death,'" he continued reading, "'were happy; but the prisoners suffered far worse. General Havelock, to join whom we are marching up-country, has beaten the rebels everywhere in detail, and as the news of his victories reached Cawnpore, the European prisoners were led out in small batches, the men were murdered, with every refinement of cruelty possible; the children were killed, their brains dashed out before their parents' eyes, while wives and daughters were given up to the savage l.u.s.t of the sepoys, only to meet death at a later period.'"

Isabel started from her seat, her eyes were bright as she walked to and fro, and she pushed her hair back from her forehead with both hands as she spoke.

"Have you done, Enrico?" she asked, her breath seeming to come fast and thick.

"All, except smaller matters of personal detail," he replied.

"Read on to the last letter," she said; and he obeyed.

"'You are promoted to a Majority, as you will see by the enclosed Gazette. Colonel Desmond obtained leave, and started for England a few days before the explosion of the mutiny. Lieutenant-Colonel Sedley is sick, and will be sent down to Calcutta, his old wound having broken out. Could you not--'"

And Hughes paused, looking sadly at Isabel.

The latter stopped in her walk, bent down, and took up the letter which had fallen to the ground.

"Do you think so meanly of me? Do you believe me to be so unworthy of you?" she said, turning her eyes full upon him, and placing the doc.u.ment once more in his hands. "Read on, Enrico."

"'Could you not join at once on receipt of this? Don't bring the Kaffir Bride, we have impediments enough already. You will have command of the old regiment, and we will gloriously revenge on these foul murderers the butchery of our women and children. Don't hesitate an hour when this reaches you.'

"'Ever sincerely yours,'

"'Frederick Curtis.'"

"Always the same," exclaimed Hughes. "He would have the command and sure promotion, but he thinks of me rather than himself."

"And you will not hesitate a minute--no, not a second," cried Isabel, the hot blood rushing to her face.

"Isabel!" said the soldier, in a voice which, despite all he could do, trembled.

"You will avenge the savage butchery. Shall I, a daughter of sunny Portugal, in whose veins flows the proud blood of Castille, bid you stay?"

He held her out at arm's length, he gazed into her eyes, flashing with pride and indignation.

"Go, Enrico. The steamer leaves to-morrow at daybreak. Go: and come back to me covered with glory, as you will come."

"And if I return no more, Isabel?"

"Still go, Enrico; and lead your regiment in the thickest of the fray.

Tell them they fight for their wives and children; and when the murders are avenged, when what remains of the helpless prisoners are safe, when the flag of your country waves victorious in the land, come back to me, or,"--and for the first time the flushed countenance paled and the voice trembled--"or," she continued, "Enrico mio, I will come to you;" and, bursting into tears, her beautiful head sunk on the soldier's breast, as he clasped her fervently in his arms.

Volume 2, Chapter XII.

THE RELIEF OF CAWNPORE.

The news of the fearful outbreak in India had taken the English by surprise. The dreadful atrocities of Cawnpore, the ma.s.sacres perpetrated by Nana Sahib, who had ever been looked upon as the Englishman's friend, had carried a sense of woe and desolation to the heart of the land, but the first numbing sense of sorrow had pa.s.sed, and many a gallant fellow was on his way to India to wipe out the stain, which the revolt of her Sepoy army had cast upon the time-honoured banner of England.

"Lucknow has fallen!" were the words which met Major Hughes as he hurried on to the front one bright November morning in the memorable year of 1857. Then came reports of the demise of Sir John Lawrence, and at last, when within a few hours' march of the place itself, a rumour soon changed into a certainty, spread far and wide, announcing the death of the gallant Havelock. For a time the horizon of the Indian world seemed again clouded over by an event which was wholly unexpected.

Lucknow had fallen before a small force, whose determined gallantry had carried all before it, but the man whose masterly brain had planned, and whose daring gallantry had carried out the advance through a country literally swarming with enemies, the soldier under whose direct superintendence the Secunderabagh had been stormed, and who had spared neither health, const.i.tution, nor blood in the cause of his country, had consummated the sacrifice with his life. The gallant Havelock was no more. His body lay in a small grave in the Alumbagh. The flag of England was thrown over him in his death, and his country, though mourning her loss, found another, second perhaps to none, to step into the gap.

"You will take the command of your regiment this day, Major Hughes,"

said Sir Colin Campbell, as that officer reported himself on the morning of the 26th November, 1857. "You will find the 150th attached to General Outram's brigade, holding the Bunnee Bridge. Report yourself at once, and take your command," he continued, rising as he spoke.

This order was given in the sharp tones of one who had not a moment to lose; and Hughes, saluting his superior, turned to carry it out, without a word.

The general's tent was pitched in the Dil Kooshah Park, and the scene of confusion through which he picked his way was enough to confuse anyone.

Regiment after regiment pa.s.sed him. Infantry, cavalry, and artillery, all moving in one direction towards the Alumbagh, and it became evident that some great movement was going on. Ladies were to be seen wandering hopelessly about with children poorly provided for, only lately rescued from imminent peril. Guns lay here and there, which not being worth taking away, had been burst. Camp followers were shouting and quarrelling, and a scene of more inextricable confusion could hardly be imagined. Moving along with the crowd, Major Hughes found his way to the Martiniere, where lay Brigadier Little and a cavalry brigade. On the banks of the ca.n.a.l the 63rd Regiment and the 4th Sikh infantry were bivouacked, and soon he stumbled on the lines of the 93rd Highlanders, and of Captain Peel's gallant Naval Brigade. The heavy dome of the Shah Nujeef mosque lay before him, its walls pierced for musketry, and breached by the fire of the British guns; and there stood the Secunderabagh itself, with its yawning breaches and shattered walls.

The gardens of the doomed city had been destroyed, the mosques, houses, even to the European mess-house, had been in detail carried by storm.