GENERAL SIR HENRY HAVELOCK, Bart.

The subject of this brief sketch was one of the most distinguished soldiers that ever went forth to battle with his country’s foes. He was born in the county of Durham, 5th April, 1795. Very little is known of his early life. I have heard a few stories about his boyhood, for which, however, I cannot vouch, but they are so characteristic of the future hero of Lucknow that I give some of them here. The first reminds me of the well-known story of Nelson, as given by Southey, in his life of that gallant Admiral. The boy Havelock, when about seven or eight years of age, climbed a high tree in search of a bird’s nest; the branch that he was standing on broke and he fell to the ground the moment that he had gained his prize. As soon as he recovered consciousness his father asked him whether he was not frightened, when the branch snapped. “No,” said the little fellow, “I did not think of being frightened; I had too much to do thinking of the eggs, for I was sure they would all be smashed to pieces.” The next gives abundant indication of that cool judgment and forethought, which he afterwards so conspicuously displayed. When about twelve years of age he saw a dog worrying his father’s sheep. Instead of beating off the brute, as most boys would have done, he ran to a haystack close by, and pulled out sufficient hay with which to make a strong band or rope; this he threw round the dog’s neck and fairly choked him, and then flung his carcass into a pond, and walked off as if nothing had happened. Young Havelock was first destined for the law, but he got tired of that, and took to the profession of arms. An elder brother had distinguished himself in the Peninsula War and at Waterloo, and Henry, yielding to the military propensities of his family, endeavoured to obtain a commission. A month after Waterloo, he was appointed 2nd Lieutenant in the Rifle Brigade, then the 95th Regiment. His military training was assisted by Captain (afterwards Sir Harry) Smith, the victor of Aliwal. Havelock served for eight years in England, Scotland, and Ireland, and then exchanged into the 13th Regiment, and embarked for India in 1823. Next year the first Burmese War broke out, and Havelock was appointed Deputy-Assistant Adjutant-General, and was present at the actions fought during that war at Napadee, Patanagoh, and Paghan. He was now about the age that Vicars was when he fell, but long before had been led to see his need of a Saviour, and was always doing what he could to promote the honour and glory of his crucified Lord. At the close of this war, in which he was wounded, he was associated with Captain Lumsden and Dr. Kirk on a mission to the Court of Ave, and had an audience of the “Golden Foot” (King), when the treaty of Yandaboo was signed. In 1827, he published the “History of the Ave Campaign.” The 13th did good service in this campaign; they were nick-named “Havelock’s Saints,” but when anything rough was to be done, General Campbell knew well who to send for. On one occasion a certain distinguished Regiment was told off to storm one of the enemy’s stockades, but, lo, when the time came for them to make the attack it had to be reported that they were all drunk, and could not move. The General at once said, “Send for Havelock and his Saints, they are not drunk.” The Saints accordingly went at the stockade, and took it. From my experience I have no hesitation in saying that such men as these are of the salt of the earth, and the bulwarks of our Nation. They were all “praying men.” “Righteousness exalteth a Nation; but sin is a reproach to any people.”—Prov. xiv. 34. These men would heartily sing:—

Shortly afterwards our hero was appointed Adjutant of the Chinsurah DepÔt, but on its breaking up Havelock returned to his Regiment, the 13th. He now spent many happy days in pointing poor sinners to the Lamb of God. In 1829 he married Miss Hannah Shepherd, a daughter of the Rev. J. Marshman, D.D., the well-known Baptist missionary, and colleague of Dr. Carey. In 1838 he obtained his Company, after serving twenty-three years as a subaltern. An army was now collected for the invasion of Afghanistan, and Captain Havelock accompanied it, on the staff of Sir W. Cotton. He went through the first Afghan campaign, was present at the storming of Ghuznee and the occupation of Cabul, and then returned to India, where he shortly afterwards printed a “Monograph of the Afghan Campaign.” Returning to the Punjaub, he was placed on the staff of General Elphinstone as Persian interpreter, was next sent to join Sir R. Sale, then marching back to India, and was present at the forcing of the Khoord Cabul Pass, at the action of Tezeen, and all the other engagements of that force, till it reached Jellalabad. In the final attack on Mahomed Akbar in April, 1842, which obliged that chief to raise the siege, Havelock commanded the right column, and defeated the enemy before the other columns could come up. For this he was promoted and was made a Companion of the Bath. He was then nominated Persian Interpreter to General Pollock, and was present at the action Mamoo Keil and the second engagement at Tezeen, and he had a lot more fighting before he returned to the plains of India. But, as he often said, he had a God of Love watching over him. He then obtained his Regimental Majority.

At the close of 1843 he accompanied the army to Gwalior, and was engaged at the Battle of Maharajpore, In 1844 he was promoted to the rank of Lieut.-Colonel, by Brevet. In 1845 he proceeded with the army to meet the invasion of the Sikhs, and was actively engaged at the battles of Moodkee, Ferozeshah, and Sobraon. At Moodkee he had two horses shot from under him; at Sobraon a third horse was smitten down by a cannon ball which passed through his saddle cloth. On the conclusion of the Sutlej Campaign he was appointed D.A.G. to the Queen’s troops at Bombay. The second Sikh War now broke out, and his elder brother, Col. W. Havelock, was killed at Ramnuggur. In 1849 he came over to Old England for the benefit of his health, but, returning to Bombay in 1851, was soon made Brevet-Colonel and received the appointment, first as Quartermaster General, and then as Adjutant General of the Queen’s Troops in India. It did not matter how, where, or under what circumstances he was placed, his chief study was how he could best promote the honour and praise of Him who had so often thrown His protecting arm around him.

On the despatch of the Persian expedition Colonel Havelock was appointed to command the 2nd division, and subsequently, in returning to India, was shipwrecked off the coast of Ceylon—all hands were saved, but the ship was lost. Havelock, on the beach, with all his men and officers around him, called a Prayer Meeting, over which he presided, and publicly thanking God for His mercies.

I am now coming to the time when this noble Christian hero astonished the whole world by his exploits in the relief of Cawnpore and then of Lucknow—which exploits all were compelled to admire, except the Mutineers, and they had a wholesome dread of Havelock Sahib, the very man that had so often led them to victory.

At length Havelock landed in Calcutta, was promoted to the rank of Brigadier-General, and ordered to proceed to Allahabad. He reached his destination, and on the 7th July, 1857, drew his sword once more, in order to proceed to the relief of the unfortunates who were shut up in Cawnpore and Lucknow. His little army as regards numbers was not very formidable. It consisted of 600 of the 1st Madras Fusiliers, 500 of the 64th, and 600 of the 78th Highlanders, with 6 guns; a small column under the brave Major Renaud, of 400 Europeans, 300 Sikhs, and 120 Volunteer Cavalry, and 12 guns, had gone before to feel the way as an advanced guard—the total united strength being 2,670. With this little force, he, as a skilful General, carried all before him. At a place named Futtehpore, the rebellious host first felt the weight of the conqueror’s sword. Our men had marched twenty-four miles that morning, and had no idea of fighting; they were all tired and hungry, but there was the enemy advancing, confident in their strength. Our hero had just held a short but fervent Prayer Meeting; and now he addressed the 78th and requested them to “let yonder fellows see what you are made of.” A British cheer followed this brief address, and then the troops got the command to advance. Guns and skirmishers were off to the front, and the battle was soon over, this being General Havelock’s first victory in the march to the relief of Cawnpore. It is the most astonishing battle on record; the enemy were routed from the field, 11 guns were captured, and their whole force scattered to the winds, without the loss of a single British soldier. Truly our General could say with the Psalmist, “The Lord is on our side.” Methinks I hear that Christian warrior attributing all the praise to the God of Jacob, and singing with all his heart:

Havelock, in thanking his men, attributed his success to the Enfield rifle in British hands, and to the blessing of Almighty God in a most righteous cause—the cause of justice, humanity, truth, and good government in India. This battle was fought on the 12th July (Sunday), 1857. Had our Commander been a hot-headed man he would have ordered his men to close with the bayonet, our favourite weapon; but, no, he could see that our Enfield rifle was sweeping down the enemy, and they could not touch us; and for four hours our boys peppered the murderers of defenceless women and children, in fine style. As soon as the fight was over, and it began to get a little cool, General Havelock held a Prayer Meeting.

The voice of praise and prayer could be heard in this camp morning and evening, and its commander always presided, leading his men in the worship of the Lord of Hosts. The example of such a General was not lost upon his men—as they got opportunity they would meet in two’s and three’s and pour out their hearts in prayer and supplication. Reader, are you at all astonished that such men as these should carry all before them on field after field?

The next fight was on the 15th July, at Kulleanpore, when the enemy were again routed. The little force continued its advance, and on the 16th had another go-in at Pandoo Nuddee, where General Havelock had a horse shot under him, and the enemy were again routed, leaving 23 guns in the hands of the victors. There was another go-in at Aong, where four more guns were captured, and the Mutineers got another hint to move at the point of the bayonet. Some of them now began to find out that the Feringhees’ Ray (English Reign) was not over; they had found it nice pastime to dishonour and then murder defenceless women and children, but a terrible day of reckoning was coming. If they could not withstand a mere handful of men, what might they expect when the veterans of Alma, Balaclava, Inkermann, and Sebastopol, got at them? The sons of Albion were now on the way in thousands to avenge their murdered countrywomen, and the blood of the innocent cried aloud for vengeance.

We now come to the relief of Cawnpore. Our men had been lying down in line, and then came the grand stroke which was to deliver our poor pent-up countrywomen. General Havelock gave the order “Rise up, advance!” upon which the whole line gave a cheer, and such a cheer—it must have made the black-hearted villains tremble from head to foot. In went our men, shoulder to shoulder, and the bayonet came into play; it was too much for them, they took to their heels—that is, all that could—but a number of them stopped in the batteries. After this fight was over, our Christian hero rode along the line and thanked each Regiment. Our men were electrified to think that they had been the means of saving Cawnpore, which city lay about half a mile in front, and they at once advanced to enter it. This little force had marched 126 miles, fought four battles, and taken close upon 30 guns, large and small, in 8 days, and that in the hottest part of India, in the month of July. But oh, horror of horrors! when our men got in, the sights that met their eyes were maddening; all, all, had been cruelly murdered. While we had been giving the villains a sound thrashing in the field, that fiend, Nana Sahib, had ordered all the poor innocent creatures to be murdered! What a sight met the gaze of the victors as they entered the prison-house that had been the scene of the butchery! It was over an inch deep in blood, and caps, bonnets, and all kinds of clothing saturated in blood, were lying scattered all around. As if in mockery, on one side of the slaughter-house stood a line of women’s boots, and on the other a line of children’s, and when our men came to lift them up they found the feet in them! Thus our poor helpless countrywomen and children had been hacked to pieces. The walls were covered with blood, and in some places they had, poor things, written “Countrymen avenge us, we have all to meet worse than death.” Our men, when they burst in, were horrified. Men who had on field after field witnessed all the horrors of war with scarcely a shudder, were now completely unmanned, and hardened veterans might have been seen crying like children. Our men caught some of the brutes hiding in the city; they were marched up, and made to wipe up some of the blood they had helped to spill. Some of them complained that it would break their caste; the lash of the cat brought them down on their knees, and they were then taken out and tacked up. Colonel Neill afterwards struck terror into them, for he made them lick up the blood. The whole fearful truth was now realised. A huge well had been used by the murderers as a receptacle in which to hide their victims from human eyes, and here, yet reeking in blood, stripped of all clothing, dishonoured, mutilated, and massacred, lay the bodies of 208 women and children of all ages—dying and dead. In that hideous well, there lay the helpless mother and her innocent babe; the young wife and the aged matron; girlhood in its teens, and infancy in its helplessness; all, all had fallen beneath the talwars (swords) of the cowardly Mahratta murderers. The blood speaks—“Countrymen, think of us: avenge us, your murdered wives and helpless children.”[34] No wonder that many of our men crossed bayonets over the well, and swore to have a life for every hair on the heads of those who had been so foully done to death! It is scarcely necessary to add that they kept their oath. This brief description is enough to make one’s blood boil, but it was only a small item in the terrible tragedy. The following is only too true:—A number of European women were found in the City of Cawnpore, perfectly nude, lying on their backs, fastened by both arms and legs, and thus many of them had been lying four or five days, exposed to the burning July sun; some had been more recently placed there; others had been hacked to pieces, and so recently that the blood was streaming from their mangled bodies. Children of ten, twelve, thirteen, and fourteen years of age, were found treated in the same horrible manner, at the corners of the streets, and in all parts of that guilty city; others were found stripped and crucified head downwards. Indeed in all quarters sights the most awful and degrading, the most horrible and frightful, and the most revolting to the feelings of civilised men, met their astounded gaze I think my readers will agree with me that no treatment could be too bad for such bloodthirsty wretches. Pen refuses to describe all the atrocities that were committed, and no printer would print the record of these revolting and disgusting scenes.[35]

Our men were wrought up to a state of madness. Under our noble Christian hero they would go anywhere and do anything, but the sights they had just witnessed made them more like devils than men. Havelock remained in Cawnpore until the 19th (Sunday), when he marched his little army to Bithoor to look up the rebel Nana Sahib; but the coward had bolted, leaving his fortified palace behind, with all his heavy guns. His dastardly heart sank as soon as he found that the dreaded Feringhees were advancing upon him; though he had boasted that he would destroy them all. His palace was completely destroyed, but not a man of his following was to be found. After destroying all, General Havelock marched back to Cawnpore, and remained there for General Neill to come up, which he soon did.

The following incident will show that Havelock knew well how to touch the feelings of his men. In addressing them, he said, “Soldiers, your General is satisfied with you; you have not degenerated from your predecessors that conquered on the fields of Maida and Assaye; you have put your enemies throughout India to silence; you reserved your fire until you could see the colour of your enemies’ moustachios, and this gave us victory. Gentlemen, I thank you.” His whole force now amounted to 1,500 men and ten guns. He said, “Give us 3,000 men, with six horsed guns, and we will smash every rebel force, one after the other, and the Crimean troops coming up country can settle the rest. We shall resume our way in three days, please God, and relieve Lucknow in six.” Not one of those grim-faced bearded Britons but felt confident of victory.

On the 29th July, Havelock commenced his march towards Lucknow. He had only got three miles on the road, when he found that the enemy had taken up a strong position at Oonao; they were about 6,000 strong. Havelock’s force went at them at once, took all their guns from them (19 in number), left 1500 dead upon the field, and the remainder went off like a flock of sheep, and the General exclaimed, “Oh that I had cavalry to cut up the cowardly dogs!” As soon as this fight was ended, this Christian Commander called upon the God of Israel, and thanked Him for His protecting arm. The little force was now reduced to 1,364 men; but they had another go-in at the enemy, at Busherut-gunge, and routed them from the field. This was the sixth time this little army had been engaged under our hero; fight followed fight in rapid succession; our Commander was victorious in them all, but with the fearful inroads that cholera was making in his little force, he was compelled to retire upon Cawnpore, and wait for reinforcements that he knew were coming up country, under Sir J. Outram.

I must here explain that this band of heroes was reduced by service and cholera to 700 men—but reinforcements were sent up as quickly as possible, and the 90th was the first Crimean Regiment that joined this noble band. Sir James Outram was the senior officer, but with true manliness he waived his rank and served under General Havelock as a willing volunteer, and, on the relief of Lucknow being effected, resumed his position at the head of the forces, on the 26th September, 1857.

General Havelock was soon off again; his force now consisting of nearly 3000 men, of all arms, formed up in two Infantry Brigades, one of Artillery, and one of Cavalry. The 1st Brigade, Infantry, consisted of the 5th Fusiliers and 84th Regiment, with detachments of the 64th and 1st Madras Fusiliers, Brigadier Neill Commanding; 2nd Brigade, 78th Highlanders, and 90th Regiment, and Ferozepore Sikh Regiment, Brigadier Hamilton Commanding; Artillery Brigade, Captain Maude’s Battery, six guns; Captain Olpherts’ Battery, six guns; Major Eyre’s Battery, Major Cope Commanding; Cavalry Volunteers to the left, Irregular Cavalry to the right, Captain Barrow Commanding.

This force fought or cut its way through a host, until they reached their pent-up countrymen, within the Residency, losing in one day alone, from the enemy, 535 men, 119 of whom were officers, picked off. “Our men fought,” says Havelock, “with desperation.” On the 25th September, 1857, Lucknow was relieved, and the relieving force clasped hands with its noble defender, Colonel Inglis. Their united brilliant services were, and are, the theme of general admiration. Again Sir H. Havelock was the instrument, under a kind Providence, of rescuing from a ruthless foe some hundreds of women and children. The gallant Commander of the besieged, Colonel Inglis, had made up his mind never to surrender, but to meet a soldier’s death; and the whole of the heroic garrison were equally determined to stand by our flag to the last; while if the worst had come, all the poor defenceless creatures were to have been destroyed, rather than that they should fall into the hands of fiends that were thirsting for their blood. Reader, try and imagine the scene. As the Scotch bagpipes sounded in the distance, as the continual roll of musketry, the roar of the heavy guns, and the hurrahs of their deliverers rang in their ears, they were well-nigh bursting with joy. It is impossible adequately to describe such a scene. The heart was suddenly uplifted, as a feeling of hope and joy rushed through the brain. They were in the position of criminals condemned to death, and just about to be launched into eternity, when a reprieve from Her Majesty is handed in; or like a shipwrecked crew clinging to the wreck, when unexpectedly and suddenly they are rescued. The poor things were lifted from a state of terror to one of happiness—they were now happy beyond all imagination, and at once expressed their gratitude to the God of mercy. Their deliverers came rushing in amidst loud hurrahs—yea, volley after volley of cheers was sent up to the skies from all ranks. The loud-voiced “Hurrah” is the rallying cry, the cry of rejoicing; as well as the cry of defiance to the enemy from a Briton! The brave Highlanders, the 78th and 90th, taught the enemy some lessons they will never forget, and their shrill bagpipes told both friend and foe that “the Campbells are coming;” bade the enemy to beware, and our poor pent-up garrison, to take courage: for, hark! the Macgregors—the bravest of the brave, the descendants of a long line of warriors—are coming. On every side death was staring them in the face, and no human skill seemed capable of averting it; but that noble band was commanded by one who had the eye of an eagle and the heart of a lion—one who had gone forth in the name of the Lord of Hosts, as little David had done before him; and, as a mighty man of valour, he ascribed all the glory of his achievements to Him whose arm he knew well would never be shortened. His cry was, “The battle is not ours, but our glorious Captain’s.” As they approached the besieged, a wild shout of joy rent the air, and with another terrible cheer they burst through sheet after sheet of flame, and gained the blood-stained walls. A few instruments struck up the National Anthem, and the gallant pipers responded with the strains of that song which nerves every Scot: “Should auld acquaintance be forgot,” &c. The garrison had been truly snatched from the jaws of death! As a nation, we are proud of their heroic defence against such fearful odds, and equally proud of their deliverers; while children yet unborn will exclaim with pride, “My grandfather fought and defended the Residency at Lucknow,” or “was one of those who cut their way through a host to deliver them”; while others will point with pride to their grandsires and say, “They fought at the Alma, at Balaclava, and at Inkermann, were engaged throughout the siege of Sebastopol; and helped to deliver that half-starved, pent-up band at Lucknow.”

An eye-witness says, “I shall never forget the moment that our men rushed in; we had no idea that they were so near, not expecting they could reach us for several days, when all at once we heard a sharp fire of musketry close by, then some tremendous cheering, then our deliverers came rushing in; we all found ourselves shaking hands frantically, and exchanging fervently, ‘God bless you.’ The excitement was beyond all description; the big rough-bearded men were seizing the little children out of our arms, kissing them, with tears rolling down their cheeks, and thanking God that they had come in time to save them from the fate of those at Cawnpore; we all rushed about to get these noble fellows a little water; my heart felt as if it would burst: we cried, we laughed, and I felt that I must, and did, kiss some of these noble-hearted men. We soon found out that a number of our deliverers were praying men, and that their noble Commander was one who loved the Lord with all his heart and soul. A Prayer Meeting was held that night, and a number of those who had saved us gave God all the praise.”

I have often heard it said that the biggest rogues and the worst characters in our army make the best soldiers when it comes to the push, but facts contradict this. Were it ever my lot to go into another forlorn hope, and I was allowed to select my men, I should most certainly choose those who loved the Lord, or the “Soldiers of Christ,” for they would fight fearlessly, despising all danger, as death presents to them no after fears.

Our Christian hero’s end was now fast approaching. He, with a mere handful of men, had cut his way through the midst of a host, and had been the instrument in the hands of God of saving hundreds from the murderer’s sword. His little army found themselves hemmed in, but their united forces now made the enemy keep at a respectful distance; in other words, General Sir James Outram was determined to have breathing room, and he soon made the place all around him a rather “hot corner.” But our Christian soldier and leader was now fast sinking under an attack of dysentery, brought on by excessive fatigue, “and his end was peace.” Calling his son, the present Sir H. Havelock-Allen, V.C., who had so often fought by his side, “Come here, my boy; for more than forty years I have so ruled my life, that when death came I might face it without fear; and my end is approaching.” After a time, calling his son again, and looking him full in the face, the dying man bade him “mark well how a man that has walked with God can give up the ghost.” On another occasion, “Come, my son,” said he, “and see how a Christian man can die.” These were his own words. Many a time had he said, “We may never meet like this again, but I will tell you where, if we believe in Christ, we shall meet, and I will tell you how we shall be employed;” and then, New Testament in hand, he would read and explain this Scripture, “To-day shalt thou be with Me in Paradise;” this, “He died, and was taken by angels into Abraham’s bosom;” this, “Absent from the body, present with the Lord;” this, “Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord, for they rest from their labours, and their works do follow them;” and this, “I have fought the good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith; henceforth, there is laid up for me (mark, religion is a personal matter), a crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will give me, at that day; and, brethren and comrades, ‘Not to me only, but to all them that love Him.’” He was always trying to comfort the weak and to cheer the drooping heart. Thus died Sir H. Havelock, in the zenith of his fame. He has bequeathed to us a name that will live in England and India as a household word for ages to come. General Sir Henry Havelock is gone. God took the Patriarchs, and the same unchanging God and Father took our beloved Havelock, but, although dead, he yet speaketh. If we could bring back the 13th Regiment of Infantry, and ask them what was the great topic of his discourse, as soon as the duties of his country allowed him half-an-hour—it mattered not whether it was under canvas, in barracks, or on board ship, in the Rangoon Pagoda, in the trenches, on the battle-field, or anywhere else—they would tell us that his whole talk was of redeeming love. Many a time, when death was stalking around him, had he spoken to them of Providence, when others would have spoken of chance; spoken of an Everlasting Life, of Hell, and of Death, and of departure to be with Christ, “which is far better.” Reader, Havelock yet speaks, and will live in the hearts of thousands, as long as our language endures.

A few more thoughts about this noble Commander. Havelock is gone to “that home not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.” God, our unchanging God, gave him the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. “O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?” I say again, he lives in the hearts of the people. His name will be handed down to posterity. Our children’s children will hear of him and bless his name. Methinks I can now hear the dying veteran at Lucknow exclaim, “O death, where is thy sting? Where is thy capacity for destroying me? Thou art the king of terrors, as some would say, but thou art without any authority over me! Rejoice not against me, O mine adversary, thou art a conquered tyrant; thou wert forced to give up my Lord and Master and thou wilt be forced to give me up, for though ‘He was dead, He is alive again.’ ‘O grave, where is thy victory?’” Some will scornfully say—“Old soldier, call you that victory?” Aye! This is the true victory—the victory given to him who is faithful—the victory whose laurels can never fade! Scholar as he was, hero as he was, Havelock trusted in the redeeming love of his Lord and Master. O, the dear old man, what a soldier! what a Christian! what a father! “Come, my son, and see how a Christian man can die.” For forty years of his life he had not shrunk back, but had faithfully done all that in him lay to “extol the stem of Jesse’s rod, and crown him Lord of all;” he had lived a life of faith, and now he could without shrinking face the last enemy; death had no sting for him.

Reader, stop and think. Havelock died, and so will you—will you be able to sing in death? Try and live as you would die. Remember, we are only sojourners in this tabernacle of clay for a short night, when compared with eternity—eternity, no end. But he lives again, and will live as long as eternity’s endless day shall last. He lives with untold millions, that have been bought with the precious blood of Him who died that we poor rebels might live throughout countless ages. The sad tidings of Havelock’s death reached England on the 7th January, 1858, and

England’s mighty heart was shaken.

His victorious march and daily battles had swelled the hearts of his grateful countrymen, and his triumphal progress was the theme of universal admiration. He had subdued the mutineers upon field after field, with a mere handful of men, and the gloom of his death spread from the palace to the humble cottage. The whole of the English-speaking people echoed a mournful song. But

Meanwhile, “I heard a voice from heaven saying unto me, write, blessed are the dead which die in the Lord from henceforth: yea, saith the Spirit, that they may rest from their labours; and their works do follow them.”—Rev. xiv. 13. Rest, warrior; rest, saintly soldier; rest, thou faithful missionary; rest, hero, rest! For truly it may be said of thee that thou hast entered through the pearly gates into the New Jerusalem, shouting “Victory! victory! through the blood of the Lamb!” He proved himself a faithful servant of his Lord and Master, through evil and through good report, for upwards of forty years; he served his country faithfully, and he proved upon more than thirty fields that he was second to none. He had been repeatedly sneered at by those in high positions, as a “Methodist,” a “ranting Baptist,” and often had he been painted as black as they could paint him. But one, holding the highest position that a subject could hold—that of Viceroy or Governor-General—said, “I do wish he (Havelock) would make the whole army Baptists.” And the hero of Borrosa, Field Marshal Lord Gough, knew well upon whom he could rely when the country’s honour was at stake—“Send Havelock’s band of Saints at them; they are not drunk.” And the water-drinking band went in and carried all before them.

The great Duke of Marlborough proved himself one of the greatest Generals that England ever produced; he made a great noise during his day, and when he died there was a lot of pomp at his interment. A few years have rolled on, and we but seldom hear his name mentioned. We hear far more of John Bunyan, Rowland Hill, Martin Luther, Ridley, and Latimer; these are names that will live for ever, will live as long as time shall last, in the hearts of thinking men. One of the greatest Generals of modern days (Lord Hardinge), in speaking of Havelock said, “Was there danger to be incurred? he was foremost in facing it; was there deliverance to be achieved? he would die, in order that it might be achieved,” and he also said, “He (Havelock) was every inch a soldier.” I would say all honour to the witness, and would re-echo the testimony, “every inch a soldier,” but adding—he was also every inch a Christian. This testimony ought to be borne in mind by us to-day. For four months had he to maintain, against heavy odds, a terrible warfare; neither night nor day had he rest, except a few snatches of repose. Now he would be engaged in conducting an attack, then in the conduct of a defence. A battle was fought to-day, but another must be fought to-morrow; the Residency, with its precious treasures of women and children, must be relieved. His object being attained, he with all his soul rendered thanks to God. To his grateful surprise he had come to the end of it all without a wound, notwithstanding the terrific dangers he had passed through. One day he was missed; his comrades, high and low, missed him from the place they had been accustomed to meet him in; they soon enquired, deep from the heart—“Is he ill? is he dangerously ill?” He was. He was looked up to as a Father in Israel; the younger and the older ones, the stern and stalwart men, the veterans and the recruits, all wept alike; he was beloved by all. What words, what grand words were those to his son on his death bed—“Come, my son, and see how a Christian man can die.” He had lived a life of faith upon the Son of God, and now he could die without being afraid to face the last enemy, and was able to sing:—

O death, where is thy sting; O grave, where is thy victory?

MEDALS.

RUMOURS OF WAR.