Chapter 6

The sun was far towards the western horizon before the battle was finally over. The mutineers were brave men; and, though beaten, retreated, reformed, and fought again.

The enemy had rallied at a village; and Havelock's men, after their day's fight, lagged a little when, having gone over ploughed fields and swamps, they came again under fire.

But their general rode out under fire of the guns, and, smiling as a cannon ball just missed him by a hairsbreadth, said:--

"Come, who is to take that village--the Highlanders or the 64th?"

That was enough: pell-mell went both regiments upon the enemy, who had a bad quarter of an hour between the two.

Cawnpore was won; but, alas! the women and children had been slain whilst their countrymen had been fighting for their deliverance. And Lucknow was not yet to be relieved.

For after advancing into Oude Havelock found that constant fighting, cholera, sunstroke and illness had so reduced his numbers that to go on would risk the extermination of his force.

He therefore returned to await reinforcements. By the time these arrived, Sir James Outram had been appointed general of the forces in India; but he generously refused to accept the command till Lucknow had been relieved, saying that, Havelock having made such noble exertions, it was only right he should have the honour of leading the troops till this had been done.

So he accompanied the army as a volunteer; and again the men fought their way, this time right through the mutineers, accomplishing their object by the first relief of Lucknow.

On the evening of 28th September, the soldiers reached the Residency, where the British had been shut up for so long face to face with death. The last piece of fighting was the worst they had had to face. Fired at from roof and window by concealed foes, they marched on with unwavering courage, and those who reached the Residency had a reward such as can come to few in this life.

As the women and children frantic with joy rushed to welcome their rescuers the stern-set faces of the Highlanders changed to joy and gladness; hunger, thirst, wounds, weariness--all were forgotten as they clasped hands with those for whom they had fought and bled.

"God bless you," they exclaimed; "why, we expected to have found only your bones!"

"And the children living too!"

Women and children, civilians and soldiers, gave themselves up to pure gladness of heart, and in that meeting all thought of past woes and dangers faded away.

After a series of the most thrilling incidents the world has known, Lucknow was finally relieved by Sir Colin Campbell.

When Havelock came from the Residency to meet the troops the men flocked round him cheering, and their enthusiasm brought tears to the veteran's eyes.

On the 17th November Lucknow was relieved, and on the 24th Havelock died. "I have," he said to Outram in his last illness, "for forty years so ruled my life that when death came I might face it without fear."

A FRIEND OF PRISONERS.

THE STORY OF JOHN HOWARD.

In St. Paul's Cathedral there stands a monument representing a man with a key in his right hand and a scroll in his left, whilst on the pedestal from which he looks down are pictured relics of the prison life of the past. The man is John Howard, who travelled tens of thousands of miles, and spent many years in visiting gaols all over England and the Continent, and in endeavouring to render prison life less degrading and brutalising. Wherever he went prison doors were unlocked as if he possessed a magic key; and by his life and books he did more to help prisoners than any other man.

It is only just over a hundred years since John Howard died; yet in his day persons could be put to death for stealing a horse or a sheep, for robbing dwellings, for defrauding creditors, for forgery, for wounding deer, for killing or maiming cattle, for stealing goods to the value of five shillings, or even for cutting a band in a hop plantation. And many persons who were innocent of any offence would lie in dungeons for years!

At his father's death John Howard came into possession of a good property; and, marrying a lady some years older than himself, settled down on his estate and passed three years of quiet happiness.

Then a great grief came to him. His wife died, and Howard was bowed down with sorrow.

But the distress brought with it a longing to be a comfort to others; and he set out for Lisbon, which had just been visited by the great earthquake of 1755, with the hope of assisting the homeless and suffering.

France and England were then at war, and on his way thither he was captured by a French vessel and thrown into prison. He was placed in a dark, damp, filthy dungeon, and was half starved. For two months he was kept a prisoner, and as soon as he was free he set about obtaining the release of his fellow captives.

Some years later he became a sheriff of Bedford, and began visiting the prisoners in the gaol where John Bunyan wrote the _Pilgrim's Progress_.

From the inquiries he made during the course of his visitations he was astonished to find that the gaolers received no salary, and that they lived on what they could make out of the prisoners. As a result it often happened that those who had been acquitted at their trial were kept in prison long afterwards, because they were unable to pay the fees which the gaoler demanded.

Horrified at the state in which he found the prison and at the abuses of justice that prevailed, John Howard determined to find out what was done in other parts of the kingdom, and visited a number of gaols throughout the country. And fearful places he found them to be! Boys who were taken to gaol for the first time were put with old and hardened criminals; the prisons were dirty and ill-smelling; the dungeons were dark and unhealthy; and, unless prisoners could afford to pay for comforts, they were obliged to sleep on cold bare floors, even delicate women not being exempted from such cruel treatment.

At Exeter he found two sailors in gaol, having been fined one shilling each for some trifling offence, and owing £1 15s. 8d. for fees to the gaolers and clerk of the peace. When he visited Cardiff he heard a man had just died in prison after having been there ten years for a debt of seven pounds. At Plymouth he found that three men had been shut up in a little dark room only five and a half feet high, so that they could neither breathe freely nor stand upright.

Hundreds of cases as bad or worse than these did he discover and bring before public notice.

He gave evidence before the House of Commons of what he had seen. Then Acts of Parliament were passed, providing that gaolers should be paid out of the rates, that prisoners who were found not guilty should be set at liberty at once, that the prisons should be kept clean and healthy, and the prisoners properly clothed and attended to.

Determined that these Acts should not remain a dead letter, he went about the country seeing that what Parliament required was actually carried out.

Not contented with what he had already done, he travelled abroad, inspecting the prisons of France, Russia, Holland, Switzerland, Germany, and other countries, in order to see how they compared with those in Great Britain.

Strange to say, he discovered that in a number of cases they were in many ways better; and the prisoners, unlike their fellows in Britain, were generally employed in some useful manner.

When he was in London on one occasion he heard that there had been a revolt in the military prison in the Savoy. Two of the gaolers had been killed, and the rioters held possession of the building. Howard set off for the prison, though he was warned that his life would not be safe if he ventured inside. Nothing daunted, he went amongst the prisoners, and soon persuaded them to go back to their cells peaceably, promising to bring their grievances before the authorities.

At Paris he was unable for a long time to get into that great prison house which then existed called the Bastille. Try as he would, he could gain no admittance. One day when he was passing he went to the gate of the prison, rang the bell and marched in. After passing the sentry he stopped and took a good look at the building, then he had to beat a hasty retreat, and narrowly escaped capture; but by that time he had partly accomplished his object.

When Howard was in Russia the empress sent a message saying she desired to see him; but he returned an answer that he was devoting his time to inspecting prisons, and had no leisure for visiting the palaces of rulers.

At Rome, however, he was prevailed on to go and see the Pope, on the express understanding that he should not be obliged to kiss his holiness's toe; and he came away with a very pleasant remembrance of the Holy Father.

At Vienna the Emperor Joseph II. specially requested an interview. Howard refused at first to meet the emperor's wishes; but, on the English ambassador representing good might come of the visit, Howard went to see his majesty, and remained with him two hours in conversation, during which time he made the emperor acquainted with the bad state of some of the Austrian prisons. Once or twice the emperor was angered by Howard's plainness of speech, but told the ambassador afterwards that he liked the prison reformer all the better for his honesty.

Having made up his mind to see the quarantine establishment at Marseilles, Howard made his way through France, though he was so feared and disliked by the Government that he was warned if he were caught in that country he would be thrown into the Bastille.

He disguised himself as a doctor, and after some narrow escapes arrived at Marseilles and visited the Lazaretto (or place of detention for the infected), though even Frenchmen were forbidden to do so. He took drawings of the place, and then went on a tour to many southern cities. He was at Smyrna while fever was raging with fury, and went amongst the sick and fever-stricken, fearless of the consequences.

In the course of his travels the ship in which he was a passenger was attacked by pirates, and John Howard showed himself as brave in actual battle as he was in fighting abuses; for he loaded the big gun with which the ship was armed nearly up to the muzzle with nails and spikes, and fired it into the pirate crew just in time to save himself and his companions from destruction. The books in which he gave an account of his experiences were eagerly read by the public, and produced a profound effect.

His last journey was to Russia. At Cherson he received an urgent request to visit a lady who had the fever. The place where she lived was many miles off, and no good horses were to be obtained. But he was determined not to disappoint her; so he procured a dray horse and started for his destination on a wintry night, with rain falling in torrents. As a result of this journey he was stricken down by the fever, and died 20th January, 1790.

Howard was a very hard worker, and a man of most frugal habits. He was often up by two o'clock in the morning writing and doing business till seven, when he breakfasted. He ate no flesh food, and drank no wine or spirits. He had a great dislike to any fuss being made about him personally; and, though £1500 was subscribed during his life to erect a memorial, it was, at his earnest desire, either returned to the subscribers or spent in assisting poor debtors.

But after his death a memorial was put up in St. Paul's, and quite recently a monument has been erected at Bedford, where he first began his labours on behalf of the prisoners.

A HERO OF THE VICTORIA CROSS.

THE STORY OF KAVANAGH.

It was the time of the Indian Mutiny. Lucknow was in the hands of the rebels. Within the Residency Sir James Outram, Sir Henry Havelock, and their troops, were fast shut up, around them a vast multitude of mutineers. But now near at hand was Sir Colin Campbell with the army of relief.

It was difficult, nay, almost impossible, to get a trusty messenger through that multitude of fierce and bloodthirsty foes; and yet it was of the utmost importance that Sir Colin should have some one to tell him what was passing within the Residency, and show him the best route by which his troops could approach.

If any man tried to get through and failed, death--or perhaps worse still, horrible torture--was his certain fate. But there was one man who determined to do it, or die in the attempt. His name was Kavanagh. It was so dangerous a matter that when Sir James Outram heard of his proposal he declared he would not have asked one of his officers to attempt the passage. But in the end he accepted the offer, and Kavanagh prepared for the journey.

Dressing himself as a native soldier, and covering his face and hands with lampblack, he was so altered in appearance that even his friends failed to recognise him. Thus disguised, and accompanied by a native spy named Kunoujee Lal to guide him, he set out. The night, fortunately, was dark and favoured their design. The first thing they did was to ford the Goomtee, a river about a hundred yards wide, and four or five feet deep. Taking off their garments they waded across; but whilst in the water Kavanagh's courage reached a low ebb, and he wished himself back again. However, they got to the opposite bank in safety, and crouching up a ditch found a grove of trees, where they dressed.

Kavanagh's confidence had now returned, and he felt so sure of his disguise that he even exchanged a few words with a matchlock-man whom they met. After going on for about half a mile they reached the iron bridge over the river, and here they were challenged by a native officer. Kavanagh kept judiciously in the shade whilst the guide advanced and answered the questions put to him satisfactorily, and they were allowed to proceed. A little further they passed through a number of Sepoys, but these let them go by without inquiry. Having had the good fortune to get unperceived past a sentry who was closely questioning a native, they came into the principal street of Lucknow, jostling against the armed rebels, who would have killed them in a moment had their suspicion been aroused. But no mishap occurred, and after being challenged by a watchman they at last found themselves to their great relief out in the open country.

They were now in the best of spirits, and went along for a few miles in a state of great gladness. Then came a rude shock. They had taken the wrong direction, and were returning into the midst of the rebels. It was an awful awakening for Kavanagh. Suppose the spy after all were playing him false. It seemed an extraordinary mistake to have made. Happily it was stupidity not treason that had caused the disastrous loss of time, and the guide was full of sorrow for his error.

There was nothing now to be done but to return as quickly as possible; but they were for a while in an awkward fix, as they could get no one to direct them.

A man whom they asked declared he was too old to guide them, another on being commanded to lead them ran off shouting and alarmed the village. It was now midnight, so there was no time to be lost. They made for the canal, into which Kavanagh fell several times, for his shoes were wet and slippery, and he was footsore and weary. By this time the shoes he wore had rubbed the skin off his toes and cut into the flesh above the heels.

About two o'clock in the morning they came across a picket of Sepoys, and, thinking it safer not to try and avoid them, went up and asked the way. Having answered the inquiries put to them without exciting suspicion, they were directed aright.

They now made for Sir Colin's camp, which the spy told him was situated at a village called Bunnee, about eighteen miles from Lucknow. The moon had risen by this time, and they could now see their way clearly. About three o'clock a villager observing them approach called out a Sepoy guard of twenty-five men, who asked them all kinds of questions. Kunoujee Lal now got frightened, for the first time; and threw away the letter he had received, for fear of being taken, but Kavanagh kept his in his turban. At last they satisfied the guard that they were poor men travelling to the village of Umroola to inform a friend of the death of his brother, and they were directed on their perilous road.

Hardly had they got through one difficulty than they were into another. For now they found themselves in a swamp, where they waded for two hours up to their waists in water. This might have proved the worst accident of all, for in forcing his way through the weeds nearly all the black was washed off Kavanagh's hands. Had they after this been seen by the enemy there would have been little chance of either of them reaching the British lines alive.

Much against the spy's advice, Kavanagh now insisted on a quarter of an hour's rest, for he was about worn out. After this they passed between two of the enemy's pickets who, happily for them, had no sentries thrown out, and reached a grove of trees. Here he asked Kunoujee Lal to see if there was any one who could tell them where they were. Before they had gone far, however, they heard with joy the English challenge, "Who goes there?" They had reached a British cavalry outpost, and Kavanagh's eyes filled with tears as he shook the officer's hand. They took him into a tent, gave him some dry clothes and refreshment; and he thanked God for having preserved him through the perils of that awful night.

All through the British camp spread the tale of Kavanagh's brave deed; and the enthusiasm of officers and men alike knew no bounds.

The information he was able to give proved of the greatest assistance; and a little later he had the honour of conducting Sir James Outram and Sir Henry Havelock into the presence of Sir Colin Campbell, and witnessed the meeting of these three great commanders.

When the army of relief forced its way into Lucknow, Kavanagh was always near the commander-in-chief; and, when at length they drew near to the besieged, he was one of the first at the Residency, and as he approached a loud cheer burst forth from his old associates. "It is Kavanagh!" they shouted. "He is the first to relieve us. Three cheers for him!"

In consideration of his gallant services he received the Victoria Cross, and was afterwards made Assistant-Commissioner of Oude.

THE MAN WHO BRAVED THE FLOOD.

THE STORY ON CAPTAIN LENDY'S BRAVE DEED.

In the autumn of 1893 a police force of forty men, under the command of Captain E.A.W. Lendy, Inspector-General of Police, in Sierra Leone, was sent to open a road to Koinadugu, which, owing to the war with the Sofas, had been closed.

It was no easy task to perform. The men had to cut their way through a dense jungle. This was heavy and tiring work, and, owing to the fact that for a month past they had been obliged to exist on a small quantity of rice, they were not in the best condition to undertake such labour.

However, so as to get the road finished as quickly as possible they worked from sunrise to sunset. Even the night slid not bring them rest and peace; for the rain descended in such a manner as to add to the discomfort of their situation.

On the 4th of November the force arrived at the Sell or Roquelle river. The stream was eighty yards wide. There was no bridge over it, but only a creeper rope tied across from bank to bank.

The river was very full, and a swift current was running; two hundred yards below, the noise of falls sounded a warning note, and it was known that alligators infested the district.

No wonder, then, that the natives were terrified at the idea of attempting to swim across.

Yet the river lay between Captain Lendy's force and the food and rest it needed. So, though owing to the privations the men had endured their vital powers were at a low ebb, yet, with starvation staring them in the face they must make the passage--alligators and falls notwithstanding.

The first to cross were two policemen, who, after a difficult journey, got safe to the other side.

Then followed a scene of excitement and danger. Private Momo Bangura and Sergeant Smith were the next pair to start. Hardly had they reached midstream when Bangura's rifle band, slipping over his arms, pinned them to his side.

Smith gallantly went to the rescue; but it was difficult enough for him to get along alone; and, with Bangura to support, he quickly became exhausted. After shouting for help, he and his companion disappeared from view beneath the waters.

At once two other men went to Bangura's assistance, giving Smith an opportunity of looking to his own safety.

But it seemed a hopeless struggle. Worn by their previous exertions, the men were unable to give any permanent help to Bangura, and were in their turn dragged under several times in their efforts to afford him assistance. Indeed, it now seemed that, in spite of all the bravery shown, Bangura's fate was sealed, if not that of his would-be rescuers also.

It was a terrible predicament. Four men were struggling in the seething waters in deadly danger. Too brave and resolute to leave their comrade-in-arms, too feeble to procure his safety, they were wearing out their strength in futile though heroic efforts, whilst the object of their solicitude was at his last gasp.

At this moment their brave commander came to the rescue, and at once changed the aspect of affairs.

Diving into the stream he soon reached the drowning man; and the others, released from their burden, were now able to give their undivided attention to self-preservation.

The supreme moment had arrived. Would Captain Lendy's efforts end as the others had done? If so, it is probable that all would have found a watery grave in the Roquelle; for, exhausted though they were, the three other men were far too fond of their commander to have left him to perish alone.

It was for a time a stern fight with death. But Lendy was cool, calm, resourceful. Yard by yard the distance between the further shore was lessened, notwithstanding the race of the waters toward the falls. Foot by foot he drew nearer to safety, though the man lay like a log in the grasp of his rescuer, unable to assist in the struggle that was going on.

At length the shadow of death was dissipated; for the gallant soldier managed to land his burden on the further shore, which the others had already reached.

The end of the stern combat with the waters was particularly gratifying, as several men had previously lost their lives in crossing the same river.

The silver medal of the Royal Geographical Society was awarded to Captain Lendy, and a bronze medal given to his brave followers.

But, alas! Lendy did not live to receive his medal. Ere it could reach him he had fallen in a night attack which the French made by mistake upon our forces, supposing them to be natives whom they were seeking to punish. Ere the error was discovered the loss on both sides was serious, and in the conflict her Majesty was deprived of the services of a devoted and faithful servant by the death of heroic Captain E.A.W. Lendy.

The little block in this page is a reproduction of Momo Bangura's statement forwarded to the Colonial Office, duly witnessed by his companions' signatures.

Pte Momo. Bangurah's Statement.