Twelve Years of a Soldier's Life in India / Being Extracts from the Letters of the Late Major W. S. R. Hodson, B. A.

The heart of England has not, within the memory of living men, been so deeply moved as by the Indian rebellion of 1857. It was a time of real agony,—the waiting, week after week, for those scanty despatches, which, when they came, and lay before us in the morning papers, with huge capitals at the top of the column, we scarcely dared take up, we could not read without a strong effort of the will. What it must have been to those of us whose sisters, brothers, sons, were then in the Northwest Provinces, they alone can tell; but of the rest we do believe there was scarce a man who did not every now and then feel a cold sinking of heart, a sense of shame at his inability to help, a longing to make some sacrifice of money, ease, or what not, whereby to lift, if it might be, a portion of the dead weight from off his own soul. By degrees came the light. As the trial had been, so had been the strength. The white squall was past; and though that great and terrible deluge still heaved and tossed, we began to catch sight of one and another brave ship riding it out. Our pulses beat quick and our eyes dimmed as we heard and read how the little band of our kindred had turned to bay, in tale after tale of heroic daring and self-sacrificing and saintly endurance and martyrdom. The traces here and there of weakness and indecision only brought out more clearly the soundness and strength of the race which was on its trial; and from amongst the thousands who were nobly doing their duty, one man after another stood out and drew to himself the praise, the gratitude, and the love of the whole nation. In all her long and stern history, England can point to no nobler sons than these, the heroes of India in 1857. Thank God, many of them are left to us; but the contest was for the life itself, the full price had to be paid, and one after another the heroes paid it. Some fell, full of years and honors, whom the mutiny found with names already famous; others in their glorious mid-day strength; others fresh from England, in the first daring years of early youth; of all ranks and professions,—generals, governors, cadets, missionaries, civilians, private soldiers; but each heard the call and obeyed it faithfully, loving not his own life; and we believe that even in this hurrying, bewildering, forgetful age, England and Englishmen will not let the name of one of them die.

At any rate, there is little chance that the subject of this paper will be forgotten by his countrymen, for not only has he carved out with his sword a name for himself which knows few equals even in Indian story, but he has left materials which have enabled his brother to put together one of the best biographies in our language.

Twelve Years of a Soldier's Life in India is the history of the career of Hodson of Hodson's Horse, the captor of the King of Delhi, compiled from private letters written to different members of his family.

To the book itself, as a literary work, high praise may be awarded. There are four pages only which we could wish omitted; we mean those (from p. 432 to p. 436) which contain the extracts from newspapers. Able leading article writers and special correspondents, who as soon as the firing is over, bustle up to battle-fields where their country's noblest are dying, and sit down to catch the tale of every claqueur, and spin the whole into thrilling periods, doubtless have their use, and their productions are highly valued,—or, at any rate, are highly paid for,—by the British public. The extracts in question are favorable specimens, on the whole, of such commodities. But Hodson has no need of them, and they jar on one's soul at the end of such a book. With this exception, the book is a model of its kind. There is not a word too much of the letters; in fact, we long for more of them, while confessing that no additional number could bring the man or his career more livingly before us; and the editor has, with rare tact, given us just what was needed of supplementary narrative, and no more, and has shown himself a high-minded gentleman and Christian by his forbearance in suppressing the names of the men who enviously and wickedly persecuted his brother. In a charming little preface he compares that brother to Fernando Perez, the hero of the later Spanish ballads, and then seems to doubt whether affection may not have biassed his judgment. We think we may reassure him on this point. The career of the Indian Captain of Irregulars may fairly challenge comparison with that of Fernando Perez or any other hero of romance, and we may well apply to the Englishman, lying in the death chamber at Lucknow, the poet's touching farewell to the peerless knight Durandarte, stretched on the bloody sward at Roncesvalles,—

"Kind in manners, fair in favor,

Mild in temper, fierce in fight;

Warrior nobler, gentler, braver,

Never shall behold the light."

But it is time for us to turn from the book to the man, and we think our readers will thank us for giving them the best picture which our space will allow of him and his work, as nearly as may be in his own words; only begging them to bear in mind that these letters were written in the strictest confidence to his nearest relations, and that so far from wishing to make his own deeds known during his life, he resolutely refused to allow his letters to be made public.

William Stephen Raikes Hodson, third son of the Archdeacon of Stafford, was born in March, 1821, and went, when fourteen years old, to Rugby, where he stayed for more than four years, two of which were spent in the sixth form under Arnold. At school he was a bright, pleasant boy, fond of fun, and with abilities decidedly above the average, but of no very marked distinction, except as a runner; in which exercise, however, he was almost unequalled, and showed great powers of endurance. None of his old schoolfellows have been surprised to hear of his success as the head of the Intelligence Department of an army, or of his marvellous marches and appearances in impossible places as Captain of Irregular Horse. Such performances only carry us back to first calling over, when we used to see him come in splashed and hot, and to hear his cheery "Old fellow! I've been to Brinklow since dinner." But, as a boy, he was not remarkable for physical strength or courage, and none of us would have foretold that he would become one of the most daring and successful swordsmen in the Indian army. We only mention the fact, because it is of great importance that the truth in this matter, which the lives of Hodson and others have established, should be as widely acknowledged as possible. A man born without any natural defect can, in this as in other respects, make his own character; no man need be a coward who will not be one; and a high purpose steadfastly kept in view will, in the end, help a man to the doing of nobler deeds of daring than any amount of natural combativeness.

From Rugby he went to Trinity, Cambridge, where he took his degree in 1844; but, fortunately for his country, and (let us own it, hard as it is as yet to do so) for himself also, a constitutional tendency to headache led him to choose the army rather than a learned profession. After a short service in the Guernsey militia, which he entered to escape superannuation, he got a cadetship, and embarked for India. Sir William Napier, then Governor of Guernsey, gave him a letter to his brother, Sir Charles, and himself wrote of him, "I think he will be an acquisition to any service. His education, his ability, his zeal to make himself acquainted with military matters, gave me the greatest satisfaction during his service with the militia." His brother's letter never was presented to Sir Charles Napier, as we infer from the passage at p. 156, where it is mentioned again, "I didn't show him his brother's letter," writes Hodson in 1850, "that he might judge for himself first, and know me 'per se,' or rather 'per me.' I will, however, if ever I see him again." He never saw Sir Charles again; but what a glimpse of the man's character we get from these few lines.

On the 13th of September, 1845, Hodson landed in India, and went up country at once to Agra. Here he found the Hon. James Thomason, Lieutenant-Governor of the Northwest Provinces, a family friend and connection, with whom he stayed till November 2d, when he was appointed to do duty with the 2d Grenadiers, and began his military career as part of the escort of the Governor-General, who was on his way to the Punjab. In that quarter a black cloud had gathered, which it was high time should be looked after.

Hodson, however, marches on, all unconscious, and his first letters give no hint of coming battle, but contain a charmingly graphic description of the life of an Indian army on march. Here, too, in the very outset, we find that rare virtue of making the best of everything peeping out, which so strongly characterized him.

"It is a sudden change of temperature, truly,—from near freezing at starting, to 90° or 100° at arriving. It sounds hot, but a tent at 84° is tolerably endurable, especially if there is a breeze."

At Umbala, he attends a grand muster of troops, and sees the Irregulars for the first time.

"The quiet-looking and English-dressed Hindoo troopers strangely contrasted with the wild Irregulars in all the fanciful ununiformity of their native costume: yet these last are the men I fancy for service."

This was on the 2d of December. On Christmas-day he writes:—

"I have been in four general engagements of the most formidable kind ever known in India. On the 10th, on our usual quiet march we were surprised by being joined by an additional regiment, and by an order for all non-soldiers to return to Umbala."

Then comes the description of forced marches, and battles which one feels were won,—and that was all. The same story everywhere as to the Sepoys; at Moodkee,

"Our Sepoys could not be got to face the tremendous fire of the Sikh artillery, and as usual, the more they quailed the more the English officers exposed themselves in vain efforts to bring them on.... At Ferozeshah on the evening of the 21st, as we rushed towards the guns in the most dense dust and smoke, and under an unprecedented fire of grape, our Sepoys again gave way and broke. It was a fearful crisis, but the bravery of the English regiments saved us. A ball struck my leg below the knee, but happily spared the bone. I was also knocked down twice,—once by a shell bursting so close to me as to kill the men behind me, and once by the explosion of a magazine. The wound in my leg is nothing, as you may judge when I tell you that I was on foot or horseback the whole of the two following days.... No efforts could bring the Sepoys forward, or half the loss might have been spared, had they rushed on with the bayonet.... Just as we were going into action, I stumbled on poor Carey, whom you may remember to have heard of at Price's at Rugby. On going over the field on the 30th, I found the body actually cut to pieces by the keen swords of the Sikhs, and but for his clothes could not have recognized him. I had him carried into camp for burial, poor fellow, extremely shocked at the sudden termination of our renewed acquaintance.... I enjoyed all, and entered into it with great zest, till we came to actual blows, or rather, I am (now) half ashamed to say, till the blows were over, and I saw the horrible scenes which ensue on war. I have had quite enough of such sights now, and hope it may not be my lot to be exposed to them again.... We are resting comfortably in our tents, and had a turkey for our Christmas dinner." (pp. 66, 67, 68, 69.)

In the next letter the fight at Sobraon is described:—

"On we went as usual in the teeth of a dreadful fire of guns and musketry, and after a desperate struggle we got within their triple and quadruple intrenchments; and then their day of reckoning came indeed. Driven from trench to trench, and surrounded on all sides, they retired, fighting most bravely, to the river, into which they were driven pellmell, a tremendous fire of musketry pouring on them from our bank, and the Horse Artillery finishing their destruction with grape. I had the pleasure myself of spiking two guns which were turned on us."

A rough baptism of war, this, for a young soldier! No wonder that when the excitement is over, for the moment he thinks he "has had enough of such sights." But the poetry of battle has entered into him, witness this glorious sketch of a deed done by the 80th Queen's (Staffordshire).

"I lay between them and my present regiment (1st E. B. Fusiliers) on the night of the 21st of December, at Ferozeshah, when Lord Hardinge called out '80th! that gun must be silenced.' They jumped up, formed into line, and advanced through the black darkness silently and firmly; gradually we lost the sound of their tread, and anxiously listened for the slightest intimation of their progress;—all was still for five minutes, while they gradually gained the front of the battery whose fire had caused us so much loss. Suddenly we heard a dropping fire,—a blaze of the Sikh cannon followed, then a thrilling cheer from the 80th, accompanied by a rattling and murderous volley as they sprang upon the battery and spiked the monster gun. In a few more minutes they moved back quietly, and lay down as before on the cold sand; but they had left forty-five of their number and two captains to mark the scene of their exploit by their graves."

And so in another month, when the war is over and the army on its return, he "catches himself wishing and asking for more."

"Is it not marvellous, as if one had not had a surfeit of killing? But the truth is that is not the motive, but a sort of undefined ambition.... I remember bursting into tears in sheer rage in the midst of the fight at Sobraon at seeing our soldiers lying killed and wounded."

His first campaign is over, and he goes into cantonments. The chief impression left on his mind is extreme disappointment with the state of the Sepoy regiments, which he expresses to Mr. Thomason:—

"In discipline and subordination they seem to be lamentably deficient, especially towards the native commissioned and non-commissioned officers. On the march, I have found these last give me more trouble than the men even. My brother officers say that I see an unfavorable specimen in the 2d, as regards discipline, owing to their frequent service of late, and the number of recruits; but I fear the evil is very wide-spread. It may no doubt be traced mainly to the want of European officers. This, however, is an evil not likely to be removed on any large scale. Meantime, unless some vigorous and radical improvements take place, I think our position will be very uncertain and even alarming in the event of extended hostilities. You must really forgive my speaking so plainly, and writing my own opinions so freely. You encouraged me to do so when I was at Agra, if you remember, and I value the privilege too highly as connected with the greater one of receiving advice and counsel from you, not to exercise it, even at the risk of your thinking me presumptuous and hasty in my opinions."

Acting upon these impressions, he applies for and obtains an exchange into the 1st Bengal Europeans, in which he is eighth second-lieutenant at the age of twenty-five, the junior in rank of boys of eighteen and nineteen. He feels that he has difficult cards to play, but resolves to make the best of everything, and regrets only "that the men who are to support the name and power of England in Asia are sent out here at an age when, neither by education nor reflection can they have learnt all, or even a fraction of what those words mean. It would be a happy thing for India and for themselves, if all came out here at a more advanced age than now, but one alone breaking through the custom in that respect made and provided, must not expect to escape the usual fate, or at least the usual annoyances, of innovators."

At this point an opening, of which he was just the man to make the most, occurs. Mr. Thomason writes to Colonel, afterwards Sir Henry, Lawrence, the new political agent at Lahore, introducing Hodson; and at once a friendship, founded on mutual appreciation, springs up between the two, to end only with their lives. The agent manages to have the young soldier constantly in his office, and to get all sorts of work out of him. As a reward, he takes him on an expedition into Cashmere, in the autumn of 1846, whither they accompany the forces of Gholab Singh, to whom the country had been ceded by treaty. The letters from Cashmere on this occasion, and again in 1850, when he accompanied Sir Henry on a second trip to Cashmere and Thibet, are like nothing in the world but an Arabian Night which we feel to be true. The chiefs, the priests, the monasteries, the troops, the glorious country so misused by man, the wretched people, an English lady, young and pretty, travelling all alone in the wildest part on pony-back, all pass before us in a series of living photographs. We have room, however, for one quotation only:—

"The women are atrociously ugly, and screech like the witches in Macbeth,—so much so, that when the agent asked me to give them a rupee or two, I felt it my duty to refuse, firmly but respectfully, on the ground that it would be encouraging ugliness.

"I am the luckiest dog unhung (he concludes) to have got into Cashmere. I fancy I am the first officer of our army who has been here save the few who have come officially."

Colonel Lawrence was not the man to let his young friend's powers of work rust, so on their return we find Hodson set to build the famous Hill Asylum for white children at Subathoo.

We may as well notice at once, in this early stage of his career, the man's honest training of himself in all ways, great and small, to take his place, and do his work in his world-battle; how he faces all tasks, however unwonted, ill-paid, or humble, which seem to be helpful; how he casts off all habits, however pleasant or harmless, which may prove hindrances. And this he does with no parade or fine sentiment, but simply, almost unconsciously, often with a sort of apology which is humorously pathetic. For example, when set to work on the Asylum, he writes:—

"Colonel Lawrence seems determined I shall have nothing to stop me, for his invariable reply to every question is, 'Act on your own judgment,' 'Do what you think right,' 'I give you carte blanche to act in my name, and draw on my funds,' and so forth."

Which confidence is worthily bestowed. Hodson sets to work, forgetting all professional etiquette, and giving up society for the time.

"Cutting trees down, getting lime burnt, bricks made, planks sawn up, the ground got ready, and then watching the work foot by foot; showing this "nigger" how to lay his bricks, another the proper proportions of a beam, another the construction of a door, and to the several artisans the mysteries of a screw, a nail, a hinge. You cannot say to a man, 'Make me a wall or a door,' but you must, with your own hands, measure out his work, teach him to saw away here, to plane there, or drive such a nail, or insinuate such a suspicion of glue. And when it comes to be considered that this is altogether new work to me, and has to be excuded by cogitation on the spot, so as to give an answer to every inquirer, you may understand the amount of personal exertion and attention required for the work."

Again, a few months later, November, 1847,—

"I am in a high queer-looking native house among the ruins of this old stronghold of the Pathans, with orders 'to make a good road from Lahore to the Sutlej, distance forty miles,' in as brief a space as possible. On the willing-to-be-generally-useful principle, this is all very well, and one gets used to turning one's hand to everything, but certainly (but for circumstances over which I had no control) I always labored under the impression that I knew nothing at all about the matter. However, Colonel Lawrence walked into my room promiscuously one morning, and said, 'Oh, Hodson, we have agreed that you must take in hand the road to Ferozepore. You can start in a day or two;' and here I am."

Again, in January, 1848, he has been sent out surveying.

"My present rÔle is to survey a part of the country lying along the left bank of the Ravee and below the hills, and I am daily and all day at work with compasses and chain, pen and pencil, following streams, diving into valleys, burrowing into hills, to complete my work. I need hardly remark, that, having never attempted anything of the kind hitherto, it is bothering at first."

Again, in April, 1848, he has been set to hear all manner of cases, civil, criminal, and revenue, in the Lahore Court.

"The duty is of vast importance, and I sometimes feel a half sensation of modesty at being set down to administer justice in such matters so early, and without previous training. A little practice, patience, and reflection, settle most cases to one's satisfaction however; and one must be content with substantial justice as distinguished from technical law."

Again, in a letter to his brother,—

"Did I tell you, by-the-bye, that I abjured tobacco when I left England, and that I have never been tempted by even a night's al fresco to resume the delusive habit? Nor have I told you (because I despaired of your believing it) that I have declined from the paths of virtue in respect of beer also, these two years past, seldom or never tasting that once idolized stimulant!"

We have no space to comment; and can only hope that any gallant young oarsman or cricketer bound for India who may read this, will have the courage to follow Hodson's example, if he finds himself the better for abstinence, notwithstanding the fascination of the drink itself, and the cherished associations which twine round the pewter. My dear boys, remember, as Hodson did, that if you are to get on well in India it will be owing, physically speaking, to your digestions.

These glimpses will enable the reader to picture to himself how Hodson, now Assistant to the Resident at Lahore, as well as second in command of the Guides, was spending his time between the first and the final Sikh war. Let him throw in this description of the duties of "The Guides":—

"The grand object of the corps is to train a body of men in peace to be efficient in war; to be not only acquainted with localities, roads, rivers, hills, ferries, and passes, but have a good idea of the produce and supplies available in any part of the country; to give accurate information, not running open-mouthed to say that 10,000 horsemen and a thousand guns are coming, (in true native style,) but to stop to see whether it may not really be only a common cart and a few wild horsemen who are kicking up all the dust; to call twenty-five by its right name, and not say fifty for short, as most natives do. This of course wants a great deal of careful instruction and attention. Beyond this, the officers should give a tolerably correct sketch and report of any country through which they may pass, be au fait at routes and means of feeding troops, and above all (and here you come close upon political duties) keep an eye on the doings of the neighbors, and the state of the country, so as to be able to give such information as may lead to any outbreak being nipped in the bud."

The reader will probably now be of opinion that the young lieutenant, willing to make himself generally useful, and given to locomotion, will be not unlikely to turn out a very tough nut for the Sikhs to crack when they have quite made up their minds to risk another fight; and that time is rapidly drawing near. All through the spring and early summer months there are tumults and risings, which tell of a wide conspiracy. Hodson, after a narrow escape of accompanying Agnew to Mooltan, is scouring the country backwards and forwards, catching rebels and picking up news. In September, the Sikhs openly join the rebel Moolraj. General Whish is obliged to raise the siege of Mooltan; the grand struggle between the cow-killers and cow-worshippers on the banks of the Chenab has begun.

We wish we had space to follow Hodson and his Guides through the series of daring exploits by which the Doab was cleared, and which so enraged the Sikhs that "party after party were sent to polish me off, and at one time I couldn't stir about the country without having bullets sent at my head from every bush and wall." He was attached to Wheeler's brigade during the greater part of the struggle, but joined the army of the Punjaub in time for the battle of Gujerat, which finished the war, and at which he and Lumsden his commander, and Lake of the Engineers, are mentioned in Lord Gough's despatch as most active in conveying orders throughout the action. We cannot however resist one story. The old Brigadier, making all haste to join the grand army, where he expects to get a division, leaves two forts at Kulallwala and 4000 unbeaten rebels in his rear. He is ordered back to account for them, whereupon Brigadier turns sulky. Hodson urges him to move on like lightning and crush them, but "he would not, and began to make short marches, so I was compelled to outmanoeuvre him by a bold stroke." Accordingly he starts with 100 of his Guides, when twenty-five miles from Kulallwala, and fairly frightens a doubtful sirdar, "preparing munitions of war, mounting guns, and looking saucy," out of his fort. Whereupon the Sikhs abandon a neighboring fort, and the road to Kulallwala is open without a shot fired.

"In the morning I marched with my little party towards the enemy, sending back a messenger to the Brigadier to say that I was close to the place, and that if he did not come on sharp they would run away or overwhelm me. He was dreadfully angry, but came on like a good boy! When within a mile or so of the fort, I halted my party to allow his column to get up nearer, and as soon as I could see it, moved on quietly. The ruse told to perfection: thinking they had only 100 men and myself to deal with, the Sikhs advanced in strength, thirty to one, to meet me, with colors flying and drums beating. Just then a breeze sprung up, the dust blew aside, and the long line of horsemen coming on rapidly behind my party burst upon their senses. They turned instantly, and made for the fort; so, leaving my men to advance quietly after them, I galloped up to the Brigadier, pointed out the flying Sikhs, explained their position, and begged him to charge them. He melted from his wrath, and told two regiments of Irregulars to follow my guidance. On we went at the gallop, cut in amongst the fugitives, and punished them fearfully."

"The Brigadier has grown quite active, and very fond of me since that day at Kulallwala, though he had the wit to see how brown I had done him by making him march two marches in one." It is certainly to the Brigadier's credit that he does seem to have appreciated his provoking "Guide," for he mentions him in the highest terms in despatch after despatch, and at the close of the war comforts him thus: "Had your name been Hay or Ramsay, no honors, no appointments, no distinctions would have been considered too great to mark the services you have rendered to Government."

The war ended, the Punjaub is annexed, and Hodson with it, who loses all his appointments and returns to "the Guides."

He feels sore of course at the loss of his occupation and position, but sticks to his drill-sergeant's work now that there is nothing higher to do, and pities from his heart the dozens of regimental officers at Peshawur who have not an hour's work in two days. It is a recently formed station, with a flying column of 10,000 men there for the hot months, and no books or society; "people are pitched headlong on to their own resources, and find them very hard falling indeed."

The first Sikh war had opened Hodson's eyes as to the merits of the Sepoys; the second makes him moralize much about the system of promotion.

He concludes that for war, especially in India, "your leaders must be young to be effective," in which sentiment we heartily agree;—but how to get them? "There are men of iron, like Napier and Radetzky, aged men whom nothing affects; but they are just in sufficient numbers to prove the rule by establishing exceptions." And would not the following be ludicrous, but that men's lives are in the balance?

"A brigadier of infantry, under whom I served during the three most critical days of the late war, could not see his regiment when I led his horse by the bridle until its nose touched the bayonets; and even then he said faintly, 'Pray which way are the men facing, Mr. Hodson?' This is no exaggeration, I assure you. Can you wonder that our troops have to recover by desperate fighting, and with heavy loss, the advantages thrown away by the want of heads and eyes to lead them?

"A seniority service, like that of the Company, is all very well for poor men; better still for fools, for they must rise equally with wise men; but for maintaining the discipline and efficiency of the army in time of peace, and hurling it on the enemy in war, there never was a system which carried so many evils on its front and face."

His fast friend, Sir Henry Lawrence, again intervenes, and he is appointed an Assistant Commissioner, leaving the Guides for a time. In this capacity, in April, 1850, he comes across the new Commander-in-Chief:—

"I have just spent three days in Sir Charles Napier's camp, it being my duty to accompany him through such parts of the civil district as he may have occasion to visit. He was most kind and cordial; vastly amusing and interesting, and gave me even a higher opinion of him than before. To be sure, his language and mode of expressing himself savor more of the last than of this century—of the camp than of the court; but barring these eccentricities, he is a wonderful man; his heart is as thoroughly in his work, and he takes as high a tone in all that concerns it, as Arnold did in his; that is to say, the highest the subject is capable of. I only trust he will remain with us as long as his health lasts, and endeavor to rouse the army from the state of slack discipline into which it has fallen. On my parting with him he said, 'Now, remember, Hodson, if there is any way in which I can be of use to you, pray don't scruple to write to me.'"

After working in the Civil Service, chiefly in the Cis-Sutlej Provinces, for nearly two years, under Mr. Edmonstone, he is promoted to the command of the Guides on Lumsden's return to England. The wild frontier district of Euzofzai is handed over to him, where

"I am military as well as civil chief; and the natural taste of the Euzofzai Pathans for broken heads, murder, and violence, as well as their litigiousness about their lands, keeps me very hard at work from day to day."

Here he settles with his newly married wife, "the most fortunate man in the service; and have I not a right to call myself the happiest also, with such a wife and such a home?"

For nearly three years he rules this province, building a large fort for his regiment, fighting all marauders from the hills, training his men in all ways, even to practising their own sports with them.

"William is very clever" his wife writes "at this," cutting an orange, placed on a bamboo, in two, at full speed, "rarely failing. He is grievously overworked; still his health is wonderfully good, and his spirits as wild as if he were a boy again. He is never so well pleased as when he has the baby in his arms."

Yes, the baby,—for now comes in a little episode of home and family, a gentle and bright gem in the rough setting of the soldier's life; and the tender and loving father and husband stands before us as vividly as the daring border-leader.

"You would so delight in her baby tricks," he writes to his father. "The young lady already begins to show a singularity of taste—refusing to go to the arms of any native women, and decidedly preferring the male population, some of whom are distinguished by her special favor. Her own orderly, save the mark, never tires of looking at her 'beautiful white fingers,' nor she of twisting them into his black beard,—an insult to an Oriental, which he bears with an equanimity equal to his fondness for her. The cunning fellows have begun to make use of her too, and when they want anything, ask the favor in the name of Lilli BÂbÂ (they cannot manage 'Olivia' at all). They know the spell is potent."

But for the particulars of life in the wilderness, we must refer our readers to Mrs. Hodson's letters (pp. 197-200). This happiness was not destined to last. In July, 1854, the child dies.

"The deep agony of this bereavement I have no words to describe," the father writes. "She had wound her little being round our hearts to an extent which we neither of us knew until we awoke from the brief dream of beauty, and found ourselves childless."

Another trial too is at hand. In the autumn of 1854, Sir H. Lawrence is removed from the Punjaub, and in October, charges are trumped up (there is no other word for it, looking to the result) against Hodson, in both his civil and military capacity. A court of inquiry is appointed; and before that court has reported, he is suspended from all civil and military duty.

Into the details of the charges against him we will not enter, lest we should be tempted into the use of hard words, which his brother has nobly refrained from. All that need be stated is, that the sting lay in the alleged confusion of his regimental accounts. The Court of Inquiry appointed Major Taylor to examine these, and report on them. This was in January, 1855; in February, 1856, Taylor presented an elaborate report, wholly exculpating Hodson. Mr. Montgomery, (then Commissioner for the Punjaub, now Chief Commissioner in Oude,) to whom it was submitted, calls it the most satisfactory report he ever read, and most triumphant. This report, however, though made public on the spot, had not, even in May, 1857, been communicated to the Government of India; whether suppressed on purpose, or not, there is no evidence. But when at last fairly brought to their notice by a remonstrance from the accused, the satisfactory nature of the document may be gathered from the fact that the answer is, "his remonstrance will be placed on record for preservation, not for justification, which it is fully admitted was not required,—no higher testimonials were ever produced."

It is with the man himself that we are concerned. We have seen him in action, and in prosperity; how will he face disgrace and disaster?—

"I must endeavor to face the wrong, the grievous, foul wrong, with a constant and unshaken heart, and to endure humiliation and disgrace with as much equanimity as I may; and with the same soldierlike fortitude with which I ought to face danger, suffering, and death in the path of duty.... Our darling babe was taken from us on the day my public misfortunes began, and death has robbed us of our father before their end. The brain-pressure was almost too much for me.... I strive to look the worst boldly in the face as I would an enemy in the field, and to do my appointed work resolutely and to the best of my ability, satisfied that there is a reason for all; and that even irksome duties well done bring their own reward, and that if not, still they are duties....

"It is pleasant to find that not a man who knows me has any belief that there has been anything wrong.... Not one of them all (and, indeed, I believe I might include my worst foes and accusers in the category) believes that I have committed any more than errors of judgment."

Thus he writes to brother and sister; and, for the rest, goes back resolutely to his old regiment, and begins again the common routine of a subaltern's duties, congratulating himself that the colonel wishes to give him the adjutancy, in which post

"I shall have the opportunity of learning a good deal of work which will be useful to me, and of doing, I hope, a good deal of good amongst the men. It will be the first step up the ladder again, after tumbling to the bottom."

The colonel gets him to take the office of quartermaster, however, not the adjutancy, the former office "having fallen into great disorder;" and in January, 1857, the honest old officer, of his own accord, writes a letter to the Adjutant-General, requesting him to submit to the Commander-in-Chief "that, his public record and acknowledgment of the essential service Lieutenant Hodson has done the regiment at his special request;" and urging on his Excellency to find some worthier employment for the said lieutenant. In the same tone writes Brigadier Johnstone, commanding at Umbala, through whom the colonel's letter had to be forwarded; and who "trusts his Excellency will allow of his submitting it in a more special and marked manner than by merely countersigning; for," goes on the General, "Lieutenant Hodson has, with patience, perseverance, and zeal, undertaken and carried out the laborious minor duties of the regimental staff, as well as those of a company; and with a diligence, method, and accuracy, such as the best trained regimental officers have never surpassed."

We sympathize entirely with the editor, when he bursts out, "I know nothing in my brother's whole career more truly admirable, or showing more real heroism, than his conduct at this period, while battling with adverse fates."

But there was now no need of letters from generals or colonels (however acceptable such testimonies might be in themselves) to restore Hodson to his proper position, for the mutterings of the great eruption are already beginning to be heard, and the ground is heaving under the feet of the English in India.

"We are in a state of some anxiety, owing to the spread of a very serious spirit of disaffection among the Sepoy army. It is our great danger in India, and Lord Hardinge's prophecy, that our biggest fight in India would be with our own army, seems not unlikely to be realized, and that before long. Native papers, education, and progress, are against keeping 200,000 native mercenaries in hand."

This is not the exact time a sane Commander-in-Chief, looking about for helpful persons, should choose for letting a certain Lieutenant Hodson, lately under a cloud, but, we hear, a smart officer, and of great knowledge concerning, and influence with natives, out of our reach. So thinks General Anson about the 5th of May, 1857, when Hodson, out of all patience at finding that Taylor's report has never reached the authorities at Calcutta, applies to him for leave to go to Calcutta to clear himself. However, by this time the ill-used lieutenant can afford to joke about his own misfortunes, and writes,—

"There were clearly three courses open to me, 'À la Sir Robert Peel.'

"1st. Suicide.

"2d. To resign the service in disgust, and join the enemy.

"3d. To make the Governor-General eat his words, and apologize.

"I chose the last.

"The first was too melodramatic and foreign; the second would have been a triumph to my foes in the Punjaub; besides, the enemy might have been beaten!

"I have determined, therefore, on a trip to Calcutta."

Wherefore General Anson has interviews with this outrageous lieutenant; is "most polite, even cordial," and "while approving of my idea of going down to Calcutta, and thinking it plucky to undertake a journey of two thousand five hundred miles in such weather," thinks "I had better wait till I hear again from him, for he will himself write to Lord Canning, and try to get justice done me."

In six days from this time India is in a blaze.

With the news of the outbreak come orders to the 1st European Fusileers to move down to Umbala, on the route to Delhi. They march the sixty miles in less than two days, but, on their arrival, find an unsatisfactory state of things:

"Here," writes Hodson, "alarm is the prevalent feeling, and conciliation, of men with arms in their hands and in a state of absolute rebellion, the order of the day. This system, if pursued, is far more dangerous than anything the Sepoys can do to us. I do trust the authorities will act with vigor, else there is no knowing where the affair will end. Oh, for Sir Charles now! The times are critical, but I have no fear of aught save the alarm and indecision of our rulers."

The Commander-in-Chief arrives, and now, to Hodson's most naÏve astonishment, which breaks out in the comicalest way in his letters, he regains all he has ever lost by one leap.

"May 17th.—Yesterday, I was sent for by the Commander-in-Chief, and appointed Assistant Quartermaster-General on his personal staff, to be under the immediate orders of his Excellency, and with command to raise one hundred horse and fifty foot, for service in the Intelligence Department, and as personal escort. All this was done, moreover, in a most complimentary way, and it is quite in my line."

We can see clearly enough, from our own point of view, what has been at work for a lieutenant lately under a cloud. The plot thickens apace.

But who, at this juncture, will open the road to Meerut, from the general in command of which place we want papers and intelligence? The following extract from the letter of an officer stationed at that place will, perhaps, explain:—

"When the mutiny broke out, our communications were completely cut off. One night, on outlying picket at Meerut, this subject being discussed, I said, 'Hodson is at Umbala, I know; and I'll bet he will force his way through, and open communications with the Commander-in-Chief and ourselves.' At about three that night I heard my advanced sentries firing. I rode off to see what was the matter, and they told me that a party of the enemy's cavalry had approached their post. When day broke, in galloped Hodson. He had left KurnÂl (seventy-six miles off) at nine the night before, with one led horse and an escort of Sikh cavalry, and, as I had anticipated, here he was with despatches for Wilson. How I quizzed him for approaching an armed post at night without knowing the parole. Hodson rode straight to Wilson, had his interview, a bath, breakfast, and two hours' sleep, and then rode back the seventy-six miles, and had to fight his way for about thirty miles of the distance."

The pace pleased the general, Hodson supposes, for "he ordered me to raise a corps of Irregular Horse, and appointed me Commandant," but "still no tidings from the hills," (where his wife is;) "this is a terrible additional pull upon one's nerves at a time like this, and is a phase of war I never calculated on."

On the 27th of May the march towards Delhi begins, and Hodson accompanies, acting as Assistant Quartermaster-General attached to the Commander-in-Chief, "with free access to him at any time, and to other people in authority, which gives me power for good. The Intelligence Department is mine exclusively, and I have for this line Sir Henry's old friend, the one-eyed Moulvie, Rujub Alee, so I shall get the best news in the country." He starts, too, happy about his wife from whom he has heard; the hill stations all safe, and likely to remain so.

General Anson dies of cholera, and General Barnard succeeds; still, oddly enough, no change takes place in our lieutenant's appointments. And so the little army marches, all too slowly, as the lieutenant thinks and remonstrates, upon Delhi. Other men are answering to the pressure of the times:—

"Colonel T. Seaton and the other officers have gone to Rohtuck with the 60th Native Infantry, who, I have no doubt, will desert to a man as soon as they get there. It is very plucky of him and the other officers to go; and very hard of the authorities to send them; a half-hearted measure, and very discreditable, in my opinion, to all concerned; affording a painful contrast to Sir John Lawrence's bold and decided conduct in this crisis. This regiment (1st Fusileers) is a credit to any army, and the fellows are in as high spirits and heart, and as plucky and free from croaking as possible, and really do good to the whole force.

"Alfred Light doing his work manfully and well.... Montgomery has come out very, very strong indeed; but many are beginning to knock up already, and this is but the beginning of this work, I fear; and before this business ends, we who are, thank God, still young and strong, shall alone be left in camp; all the elderly gentlemen will sink under the fatigue and exposure."

June 5th.—Head-quarters arrive at Aleepore, nearly at the end of our march, in fact one may say at the end, for on that day I rode right up to the Delhi parade-ground to reconnoitre, and the few sowars whom I met galloped away like mad at the sight of one white face. "Had I had a hundred Guides with me I would have gone up to the very walls;" and on June the 8th we occupy our position before Delhi, having driven the enemy out of their position; not without loss, for Colonel Chester is killed, Alfred Light (who won the admiration of all) wounded.... No one else of the staff party killed or wounded; but our general returns will, I fear, tell a sad tale. I am mercifully unhurt, and write this line in pencil on the top of a drum to assure you thereof.

We must break the narrative here for a moment, now that we have got the combatants face to face, in the place of decision, to submit to our readers our own conviction that this same siege of Delhi, beginning on June 9th and ending triumphantly on September 22d, 1857, is the feat of arms of which England has most cause to be proud. From Cressy to Sebastopol it has never been equalled. A mere handful of Englishmen, for half the time numbering less than three thousand, sat down in the open field, in the worst days of an Indian summer, without regular communications, (for the daks were only got carried by bribery, stage by stage,) without proper artillery, and last and worst of all, without able leading, before and took a city larger than Glasgow, garrisoned by an army trained by Englishmen, and numbering at first 20,000, in another ten days 37,000, and at last 75,000 men, supplied with all but exhaustless munitions of war, and in the midst of a nation in arms. "I venture to aver," writes Hodson, "that no other nation in the world would have remained here, or have avoided defeat, had they attempted to do so." We agree with him; and we do trust that the nation will come to look at the siege of Delhi in the right light, and properly to acknowledge and reward the few who remain of that band of heroes who saved British India.

Our readers must also remember that we are not giving the story of the siege, but the story of Hodson's part therein, and must therefore not think we are unduly putting him forward to the depreciation of other as glorious names. We would that we had the same means of following the life day by day of Nicholson and Chamberlain, Tombs and Light, Welchman, Showers, Home, Salkeld, or a hundred others equally gallant. But what we have is Hodson's life compiled from his daily letters to his wife. No doubt the work of the regulars was as important, perhaps even more trying, than that of the Captain of Irregular Cavalry, Assistant Quartermaster-General, and head of the Intelligence Department; but these were his duties, and not the others', and we shall now see how he fulfilled them.

On the first day of the siege "the Guides" march into camp:

"It would have done your heart good to see the welcome they gave me—cheering and shouting and crowding round me like frantic creatures. They seized my bridle, dress, hands, and feet, and literally threw themselves down before the horse with the tears streaming down their faces. Many officers who were present hardly knew what to make of it, and thought the creatures were mobbing me; and so they were—but for joy, not for mischief."

"Burrah Serai-wallah," they shouted, ("great in battle" in the vulgar tongue,) making the staff and others open their eyes, who do not much believe, for their part, in the power of any Englishman really to attach to himself any native rascals.

Next day, June 10th, the ball opens. The mutineers march out in force and attack our position:

"I had command of all the troops on our right, the gallant Guides among the rest. They followed me, with a cheer for their old commander, and behaved with their usual pluck, and finally we drove the enemy in with loss.... Indeed, I did not expose myself unnecessarily; for having to direct the movements of three or four regiments, I could not be in the front as much as I wished."

But wives will be anxious, my lieutenant, and making all just allowances, it must be confessed that you give her fair cause:

"The warmth of the reception again given me by the Guides was quite affecting, and has produced a great sensation in camp, and had a good effect on our native troops, insomuch that they are more willing to obey their European officers when they see their own countrymen's enthusiasm.

"My position is Assistant Quartermaster-General on the Commander-in-Chief's personal staff. I am responsible for the Intelligence Department, and in the field, or when anything is going on for directing the movements of the troops in action, under the immediate orders of the general."

Again, on June 12th, we are at it:—

"A sharp fight for four hours, ending as usual. They have never yet been so punished as to-day. The Guides behaved admirably, so did the Fusileers as usual. I am vexed much at the Lahore Chronicle butter, and wish people would leave me alone in the newspapers. The best butter I get is the deference and respect I meet with from all whose respect I care for, and the affectionate enthusiasm of the Guides, which increases instead of lessening."

But this daily repulsing attacks cannot be allowed to go on: cannot we have something to say to attacking them? So the general thinks, and sets Greathed, assisted by me and two more engineers, to submit a plan for taking Delhi.

"We drew up our scheme and gave it to the general, who highly approved, and will, I trust, carry it out; but how times must be changed, when four subalterns are called upon to suggest a means of carrying out so vitally important an enterprise as this, one on which the safety of the empire depends!"

Simple but "perfectly feasible" plan of four subalterns: blow open gates with powder, and go in with bayonet, and that there may be no mistake about it, I volunteer to lead the assault (wholly unmindful of that assurance given to a loving heart in the hills that I am not exposing myself) and fix on a small building in front of the gate as the rendezvous, which is now called "Hodson's Mosque."

General approves, and orders assault for the morning of June 13th. Alas for our "perfectly feasible" plan!

"We were to have taken Delhi by assault last night, but a 'mistake of orders' (?) as to the right time of bringing the troops to the rendezvous prevented its execution. I am much annoyed and disappointed at our plan not having been carried out, because I am confident it would have been successful. The rebels were cowed, and perfectly ignorant of any intention of so bold a stroke on our part as an assault; the surprise would have done everything."

Next day there is another fight. A council of war. Our plan is still approved, but put off from day to day. Abandoned at last, we are to wait for reinforcements. Poor "feasible plan!"

"It was frustrated the first night by the fears and absolute disobedience of orders of ——, the man who first lost Delhi, and has now by folly prevented its being recaptured. The general has twice since wished and even ordered it, but has always been thwarted by some one or other; latterly by that old woman ——, who has come here for nothing apparently but as an obstacle; —— is also a crying evil to us. The general knows this and wants to get rid of him, but has not the nerve to supersede him. The whole state of affairs here is bad to a degree."

And here I am (June 19th), with fights going on every day, knocked down with bronchitis and inflammation of the chest, "really very ill for some hours." "The general nurses me as if I were his son. I woke in the night and found the kind old man by my bedside covering me carefully up from the draught." But on June 20th (bronchitis notwithstanding) I am up and at work again, for the Sepoys have attacked our rear to-day, and though beaten as usual, Colonel Becher (Quartermaster-General) is shot through right arm, and Daly (commanding Guides) hit through the shoulder. So the whole work of the Quartermaster-General's office is on me, and the general begs me as a personal favor to take command of Guides in addition. I at first refused, but the general was most urgent, putting it on the ground that the service was at stake, and none was so fit, &c. &c. I do feel that we are bound to do our best just now to put things on a proper footing; and after consulting Seaton and Norman, I accepted the command. How —— will gnash his teeth to see me leading my dear old Guides again in the field.

And so we fight on, literally day by day, for now "our artillery officers themselves say they are outmatched by these rascals in accuracy and rapidity of fire; and as they have unlimited supplies of guns, &c., they are quite beyond us in many respects. We are, in point of fact, reduced to merely holding our own ground till we get more men." Still we don't feel at all like giving in.

"The wounded generally are doing well, poor fellows, considering the heat, dirt, and want of any bed but the dry ground. Their pluck is wonderful, and it is not in the field alone that you see what an English soldier is made of. One poor fellow who was smoking his pipe and laughing with the comrade by his side, was asked, what was the matter with him, and he answered in a lively voice, 'Oh, not much, Sir, only a little knock on the back; I shall be up and at the rascals again in a day or two.' He had been shot in the spine, and all his lower limbs were paralyzed. He died next day. Colonel Welchman is about again; too soon, I fear, but there is no keeping the brave old man quiet. Poor Peter Brown is very badly wounded, but he is cheerful, and bears up bravely. Jacob has 'come out' wonderfully. He is cool, active, and bold, keeps his wits about him under fire, and does altogether well. We are fortunate in having him with the force. Good field-officers are very scarce indeed; I do not wonder at people at a distance bewailing the delay in the taking of Delhi. No one not on the spot can appreciate the difficulties in the way, or the painful truth, that those difficulties increase upon us."

I am rather out of sorts still myself, also. It is a burden to me to stand or walk, and the excessive heat makes it difficult for me to recover from that sharp attack of illness. "The doctors urge me to go away for a little, to get strength—as if I could leave just now, or as if I would if I could." ... So I am in the saddle all day, (June 24th,) though obliged occasionally to rest a bit where I can find shelter, and one halt is by Alfred Light.

"It does me good to see the 'Light of the ball-room' working away at his guns, begrimed with dust and heat, ever cheery and cool, though dead beat from fatigue and exposure. How our men fought to-day; liquid fire was no name for the fervent heat; but nothing less than a knock-down blow from sun, sword, or bullet, stops a British soldier."

My glorious old regiment! how they have suffered in this short three weeks; Colonel Welchman badly hit in the arm, Greville down with fever, Wriford with dysentery, Dennis with sunstroke, Brown with wounds.

"Jacob and the 'boys' have all the work to themselves, and well indeed do the boys behave—with a courage and coolness which would not disgrace veterans. Little Tommy Butler, Owen, Warner, all behave like heroes, albeit with sadly diminishing numbers to lead. Neville Chamberlain is come in, who ought to be worth a thousand men to us."

Those rascals actually came out to-day (June 25th), in their red coats and medals!

"We are not very well off, quant À la cuisine. I never had so much trouble in getting anything fit to eat, except when I dine with the general. Colonel Seaton lives in my tent, and is a great companion; his joyous disposition is a perpetual rebuke to the croakers."

And so too was your own, my Lieutenant, for we have fortunately a letter from a distinguished officer, in which he says,—

"Affairs at times looked very queer, from the frightful expenditure of life. Hodson's face was then like sunshine breaking through the dark clouds of despondency and gloom that would settle down occasionally on all but a few brave hearts, England's worthiest sons, who were determined to conquer."

But this siege does set one really thinking in earnest about several things, and this is the conclusion at which our Lieutenant arrives:—

"There is but one rule of action for a soldier in the field, as for a man at all times, to do that which is best for the public good; to make that your sole aim, resting assured that the result will in the end be best for individual interest also. I am quite indifferent not to see my name appear in newspaper paragraphs and despatches; only content if I can perform my duty truly and honestly, and too thankful to the Almighty if I am daily spared for future labors or future repose."

But here is another coil this June 27th:—

"There has been an outcry throughout the camp at ——'s having fled from Bhagput, the bridge which caused me so much hard riding and hard work to get, some time ago."

He has actually bolted, on a report of mutineers coming, leaving boats, bridge, and all. By this conduct he has lost our communication with Meerut, and that too when our reinforcements were actually in sight. The consequence is that I have to go down to Bhagput to recover boats, bridge, &c., and reopen communication, which is done at once and satisfactorily; and by July 2d we are quite comfortable, for I have set myself up with plates, &c., for one rupee, and Colonel Seaton's traps and servants will be here to-day ... except that we are somewhat vexed in our spirits, for

"—— has been shelved and allowed to get sick, to save him from supersession. I do not like euphuisms. In these days men and things should be called by their right names, that we might know how far either should be trusted.

"July 5th.—General Barnard dies of cholera after a few hours' illness. Personally I am much grieved, for no kinder or more considerate or gentlemanly man ever lived. I am so sorry for his son, a fine brave fellow, whose attention to his father won the love of us all. It was quite beautiful to see them together."

And so we plunge on day after day, the rain nearly flooding us out of camp. Will the ladies in the hills make us some flannel shirts?

"The soldiers bear up like men, but the constant state of wet is no small addition to what they have to endure from heat, hard work, and fighting. I know by experience what a comfort a dry flannel shirt is.

"July 12th.—Three hundred of my new regiment arrive; very fine-looking fellows, most of them. I am getting quite a little army under me, what with the Guides and my own men. Would to Heaven they would give us something more to do than this desultory warfare, which destroys our best men, and brings us no whit nearer Delhi, and removes the end of the campaign to an indefinite period."

Another fight this 14th July, one of the sharpest we have yet had, and we who have to lead were obliged to expose ourselves, but really not more than we could help; and how the papers can have got hold of this wound story I can't think, for I didn't tell it even to you. The facts are thus:—

"A rascally Pandy made a thrust at my horse, which I parried, when he seized his 'tulwar' in both hands, bringing it down like a sledge-hammer; it caught on the iron of my antigropelos legging, which it broke into the skin, cut through the stirrup-leather, and took a slice off my boot and stocking; and yet, wonderful to say, the sword did not penetrate the skin. Both my horse and myself were staggered by the force of the blow, but I recovered myself quickly, and I don't think that Pandy will ever raise his 'tulwar' again."

But, to show you that I did no more than was necessary, I must tell you what Chamberlain had to do, who led in another part.

"Seeing a hesitation among the troops he led, who did not like the look of a wall lined with Pandies, and stopped short, instead of going up to it, he leaped his horse clean over the wall into the midst of them, and dared the men to follow, which they did, but he got a ball in the shoulder."

I must positively give up the Quartermaster-General's work; head-quarters' staff seems breaking down altogether. General Reed goes to the hills to-night; Congreve and Curzon have been sent off, too; Chamberlain and Becher on their backs with wounds.

"Colonel Young, Norman, and myself, are therefore the only representatives of the head-quarters' staff, except the doctors and commissaries. I am wonderfully well, thank God! and able to get through as much work as any man; but commanding two regiments, and being eyes and ears to the whole army, too, is really too much."

Again, to-day (July 19) a sharp fight; Pandies in great force—driven pellmell up to the walls; but how about getting back.

"We were commanded by a fine old gentleman, who might sit for a portrait of Falstaff, so fat and jolly is he, Colonel Jones, of 60th Rifles."

Jolly old Briton, with the clearest possible notion of going on, but as for retiring, little enough idea of that sort of work in Colonel Jones.

"The instant we began to draw off, they followed us, their immense numbers giving them a great power of annoyance at very slight cost to themselves. The brave old colonel was going to retire 'all of a heap,' infantry, guns, and all in a helpless mass, and we should have suffered cruel loss in those narrow roads, with walls and buildings on both sides. I rode up to him and pointed this out, and in reply received carte blanche to act as I saw best. This was soon done, with the assistance of Henry Vicars (Adjutant 61st) and Coghill (Adjutant 2d Bengal European Fusileers), both cool soldiers under fire, though so young, and we got off in good order and with trifling loss, drawing the men back slowly, and in regular order, covered by Dixon's and Money's guns."

This colonel, too, with no notion of retreating, is a candid man; goes straight to the general on his return, and begs to thank our Lieutenant, and to say he hopes for no better aid whenever he has to lead; unlike some persons under whom we have served.

"The general has begged me to give up the Guides, and not the quartermaster-general's office. You, at least, will rejoice that it greatly diminishes the risk to life and limb, which, I confess, lately has been excessive in my case."

News of Wheeler's surrender—of the massacre four days later (July 26), and our blood is running fire. "There will be a day of reckoning for these things, and a fierce one, or I have been a soldier in vain." Another fight on the 24th, and Seaton down with chest-wound, but doing well; "he is patient and gentle in suffering as a woman, and this helps his recovery wonderfully." ... Thanks for the flannel waistcoats; but as for you and Mrs. —— coming to camp as nurses, no.

"Unless any unforeseen emergency should arise, I would strongly dissuade any lady from coming to camp. They would all very speedily become patients in the very hospitals which they came to serve, and would so willingly support. The flannel garments are invaluable, and this is all that can be done for us by female hands at present.... You say there is a great difference between doing one's duty and running unnecessary risks, and you say truly; the only question, what is one's duty. Now, I might, as I have more than once, see things going wrong at a time and place when I might be merely a spectator, and not 'on duty,' or ordered to be there, and I might feel that by exposing myself to danger for a time I might rectify matters, and I might therefore think it right to incur that danger; and yet, if I were to get hit, it would be said 'he had no business there;' nor should I, as far as the rules of the service go, though, in my own mind, I should have been satisfied that I was right. These are times when every man should do his best, his utmost, and not say, 'No; though I see I can do good there, yet, as I have not been ordered and am not on duty, I will not do it.' This is not my idea of a soldier's duty, and hitherto the results have proved me right."

August 3d.—Rumor that Sir Henry is dead at Lucknow. The news has quite unnerved me. 5th.—Nana Sahib, the murderer (you remember the man at the artillery review, a "swell" looking native gentleman, who spoke French, and was talking a good deal to Alfred Light), has been beaten by Havelock, they say has drowned himself.

"I hope it is not true; for it is one of my aims to have the catching of the said Nana myself. The hanging him would be a positive pleasure to me.... Nicholson has come on ahead of our reinforcements from the Punjaub; a host in himself, if he does not go and get knocked over as Chamberlain did.

"General Wilson has been down for some days, but is now better, but nervous and over-anxious about trifles.... These men are, personally, as brave as lions, but they have not big hearts or heads enough for circumstances of serious responsibility....

"August 11th.—Talking of jealousies, one day, under a heavy fire, Captain —— came up to me, and begged me to forget and forgive what had passed, and only to remember that we were soldiers fighting together in a common cause. As I was the injured party, I could afford to do this. The time and place, as well as his manner, appealed to my better feelings, so I held out my hand at once. Nowadays, we must stand by and help each other, forget all injuries, and rise superior to them, or God help us! we should be in terrible plight."

August 12th.—A brilliant affair under Showers; four guns taken. Brave young Owen wounded, "riding astride one gun, and a soldier with musket and fixed bayonet riding each horse, the rest cheering like mad things. I was in the thick of it, by accident."

By this time, Pandy, having been beaten severely in twenty-three fights, has had nearly enough of it, and is very chary of doing more than firing long shots, so there is no longer so much need of our Lieutenant in camp. He may surely be useful in clearing the neighborhood and restoring British rule and order; so we find him starting for Rohtuck, on 17th August, with three hundred men and five officers,—all his own men, and first-rate,—and Macdowell, two Goughs, Ward, and Wise. On the 18th the inhabitants send supplies and fair words, but there is a body of a thousand infantry and three hundred horse close by, who must be handled. Accordingly, they are drawn into the open by a feigned retreat, and come on firing and yelling in crowds.

"Threes about and at them;" five parties, each headed by an officer, are upon them. "Never was such a scatter; they fled as if not the Guides and Hodson's Horse, but death and the devil, were at their heels." Only eight of my men touched. This will encourage my new hands, utterly untrained.

Another skirmish, and now—

"In three days we have frightened away and demoralized a force of artillery, cavalry, and infantry, some two thousand strong, beat those who stood or returned to fight us, twice, in spite of numbers, and got fed and furnished forth by the rascally town itself. Moreover, we have thoroughly cowed the whole neighborhood, and given them a taste of what more they will get unless they keep quiet in future.... This is a terribly egotistical detail, and I am thoroughly ashamed of saying so much of myself; but you insisted on having a full, true, and particular account, so do not think me vainglorious."

Next come orders, but sadly indefinite ones, to look out for and destroy the 10th Light Cavalry, who are out in the Jheend district:—

"He must either say distinctly 'do this or that,' and I will do it; or he must give me carte blanche to do what he wants in the most practicable way, of which I, knowing the country, can best judge. I am not going to fag my men and horses to death, and then be told I have exceeded my instructions. He gives me immense credit for what I have done, but 'almost wishes I had not ventured so far.' The old gentleman means well, but does not understand either the country or the position I was in, nor does he appreciate a tenth part of the effects which our bold stroke at Rohtuck, forty-five miles from camp, has produced. 'N'importe,' they will find it out sooner or later. I hear both Chamberlain and Nicholson took my view of the case, and supported me warmly.... I foresee that I shall remain a subaltern, and the easy-going majors of brigade, aides-de-camp, and staff-officers will all get brevets."

Too true, my Lieutenant.

"The Victoria Cross, I confess, is the highest object of my ambition, and had I been one of Fortune's favorites, I should have had it ere now."

True again.

"But, whether a lieutenant or lieutenant-general, I trust I shall continue to do my duty to the best of my judgment and ability, as long as strength and sense are vouchsafed to me."

We trust, and are on the whole by this time prepared to hazard a prophecy, that you will so continue, whether lieutenant or general.

August 26th.—A glorious victory at Nujjufghur, by Nicholson. I was not there. Ill in camp; worse luck.... Scouring the country again till August 30th, when I have to receive an emissary from Delhi to treat.

Sir Colin Campbell is, they say, at Calcutta, and Mansfield, as chief of the staff; so now we may get some leading.

We are in Delhi at last (September 15th), but with grievous loss. My dear old regiment (1st Fusileers) suffered out of all proportion.

"Of the officers engaged only Wriford, Wallace, and I are untouched. My preservation (I don't like the word escape) was miraculous." ...

Nicholson dangerously hit; ten out of seventeen engineer officers killed or wounded.

... "'You may count our real officers on your fingers now.'

"Sept. 16th.—I grieve much for poor Jacob; we buried him and three sergeants of the regiment, last night; he was a noble soldier. His death has made me captain, the long wished-for goal; but I would rather have served on as a subaltern than gained promotion thus.

"Sept. 19th.— We are making slow progress in the city. The fact is, the troops are utterly demoralized by hard work and hard drink, I grieve to say. For the first time in my life, I have had to see English soldiers refuse, repeatedly, to follow their officers. Greville, Jacob, Nicholson, and Speke were all sacrificed to this.

"Sept. 22d.—In the Royal Palace, Delhi.—I was quite unable to write yesterday, having had a hard day's work. I was fortunate enough to capture the King and his favorite wife. To-day, more fortunate still, I have seized and destroyed the King's two sons and a grandson (the famous, or rather infamous, Abu Bukt), the villains who ordered the massacre of our women and children, and stood by and witnessed the foul barbarity; their bodies are now lying on the spot where those of the unfortunate ladies were exposed. I am very tired, but very much satisfied with my day's work, and so seem all hands."

This is Hodson's account of the two most remarkable exploits in even his career. We have no space to give his own full narrative, which he writes later, upon being pressed to do so; or the graphic account of Macdowell, his lieutenant, which will be found in the book, and it would be literary murder to mutilate such gems. As to defending the shooting of the two princes, let those do it who feel that a defence is needed, for we believe that no Englishman, worth convincing, now doubts as to the righteousness and policy of the act, and probably the old Radical general-officer and M. P., who thought it his duty to call Hodson hard names at the time, has reconsidered his opinion. Whether he has or not, however, matters little. He who did the deed, and is gone, cared not for hasty or false tongues,—why should we?

"Strange," he says, "that some of those who are loudest against me for sparing the King, are also crying out at my destroying his sons. 'Quousque tandem?' I may well exclaim. But, in point of fact, I am quite indifferent to clamor either way. I made up my mind, at the time, to be abused. I was convinced I was right, and when I prepared to run the great physical risk of the attempt, I was equally game for the moral risk of praise or blame. These have not been, and are not times when a man who would serve his country dare hesitate, as to the personal consequences to himself, of what he thinks his duty."

"By Jove, Hodson, they ought to make you Commander-in-Chief for this," shouts the enthusiast to whom the prisoners were handed over. "Well, I'm glad you have got him, but I never expected to see either him or you again," says the Commander-in-Chief, and sits down and writes the following despatch:—

"The King, who accompanied the troops for some short distance last night, gave himself up to a party of Irregular Cavalry, whom I sent out in the direction of the fugitives, and he is now a prisoner under a guard of European soldiers."

Delhi is ours; but at what a cost in officers and men! and Nicholson is dead.

"With the single exception of my ever revered friend, Sir Henry Lawrence, and Colonel Mackeson, I have never met his equal in field or council; he was preËminently our best and bravest, and his loss is not to be atoned for in these days.

"The troops have behaved with singular moderation towards women and children, considering their provocation. I do not believe, and I have some means of knowing, that a single woman or child has been purposely injured by our troops, and the story on which your righteous indignation is grounded is quite false; the troops have been demoralized by drink, but nothing more."

In November he gets a few weeks' leave, and is off to Umbala to meet his wife for the last time, safe after all, and no longer a lieutenant under a cloud. What a meeting must that have been.

With the taking of Delhi our narrative, already too long, must close, though a grand five months of heroic action still remained. Nothing in the book exceeds in interest the ride of ninety-four miles from Seaton's column, with young Macdowell, to carry a despatch to Sir Colin, on December 30th. The tale of the early morning summons, the rumors of enemies on the road, the suspense as to the Chief's whereabouts, the leaving all escort behind, their flattering and cordial reception by Sir Colin, (who gets them "chops and ale in a quiet friendly way,") the fifty-four miles' ride home, the midnight alarm and escape, and the safe run in, take away our breath. And the finish is inimitable.

"All Hodson said," writes Macdowell, "when we were at Bewar, and safe, was 'By George! Mac, I'd give a good deal for a cup of tea,' and immediately went to sleep. He is the coolest hand I have ever yet met. We rode ninety-four miles. Hodson rode seventy-two on one horse, the little dun, and I rode Alma seventy-two miles also."

One more anecdote, however, we cannot resist. On the 6th of January, 1858, Seaton's column joins the Commander-in-Chief; on the 27th, at Shumshabad, poor young Macdowell (whose letters make one love him) is killed, and Hodson badly wounded. They were in advance, as usual, with guns, and had to charge a superior body of cavalry:—

"But there was nothing for it but fighting, as, had we not attacked them, they would have got in amongst our guns. We were only three officers, and about one hundred and eighty horsemen,—my poor friend and second in command, Macdowell, having received a mortal wound a few minutes before we charged. It was a terrible mÊlÉe for some time, and we were most wonderfully preserved. However, we gave them a very proper thrashing, and killed their leaders. Two out of the three of us were wounded, and five of my men killed and eleven wounded, besides eleven horses. My horse had three sabre-cuts, and I got two, which I consider a rather unfair share. The Commander-in-Chief is very well satisfied, I hear, with the day's work, and is profusely civil and kind to me."

In another letter he writes:—

"They were very superior in number, and individually so as horsemen and swordsmen, but we managed to 'whop' them all the same, and drive them clean off the field; not, however, until they had made two very pretty dashes at us, which cost us some trouble and very hard fighting. It was the hardest thing of the kind in which I ever was engaged in point of regular 'in fighting,' as they say in the P. R.; only Bell's Life could describe it properly. I got a cut, which laid my thumb open, from a fellow after my sword was through him, and about half an hour later this caused me to get a second severe cut, which divided the muscles of the right arm, and put me hors de combat; for my grip on the sword-handle was weakened, and a demon on foot succeeded in striking down my guard, or rather his tulwar glanced off my guard on to my arm. My horse, also, got three cuts. I have got well most rapidly, despite an attack of erysipelas, which looked very nasty for three days, and some slight fever; and I have every reason to be thankful."

He is able, notwithstanding wounds, to accompany the forces, Colonel Burn kindly driving him in his dog-cart. Nothing could exceed Sir Colin's kind attentions. Here is a chief, at last, who can appreciate a certain captain, late lieutenant under a cloud. The old chief drinks his health as colonel, and, on Hodson's doubting, says:—

"I will see that it is all arranged; just make a memorandum of your services during the Punjaub war, and I venture to prophesy that it will not be long before I shake hands with you as Lieutenant-Colonel Hodson, C.B., with a Victoria Cross to boot."

By the end of February he is well, and in command of his regiment again, and in his last fight saves the life of his adjutant, Lieut. Gough, by cutting down a rebel trooper in the very act of spearing him.

And now comes the end. For a week the siege had gone on, and work after work of the enemy had fallen. On the 11th of March the Begum's Palace was to be assaulted. Hodson had orders to move his regiment nearer to the walls, and while choosing a spot for his camp heard firing, rode on, and found his friend Brigadier Napier directing the assault. He joined him, saying, "I am come to take care of you; you have no business to go to work without me to look after you." They entered the breach together, were separated in the mÊlÉe, and in a few minutes Hodson was shot through the chest. The next morning the wound was declared to be mortal, and he sent for Napier to give his last instructions.

"He lay on his bed of mortal agony," says this friend, "and met death with the same calm composure which so much distinguished him on the field of battle. He was quite conscious and peaceful, occasionally uttering a sentence, 'My poor wife,' 'My poor sisters.' 'I should have liked to have seen the end of the campaign and gone home to the dear ones once more, but it was so ordered.' 'It is hard to leave the world just now, when success is so near, but God's will be done.' 'Bear witness for me that I have tried to do my duty to man. May God forgive my sins, for Christ's sake.' 'I go to my Father.' 'My love to my wife,—tell her my last thoughts were of her.' 'Lord receive my soul.' These were his last words, and without a sigh or struggle his pure and noble spirit took its flight."

"It was so ordered." They were his own words; and now that the first anguish of his loss is over, will not even those nearest and dearest to him acknowledge "it was ordered for the best?" For is there not something painful to us in calculating the petty rewards which we can bestow upon a man who has done any work of deliverance for his country? Do we not almost dread—eagerly as we may desire his return—to hear the vulgar, formal phrases which are all we can devise to commemorate the toils and sufferings that we think of with most gratitude and affection? There is somewhat calming and soothing in the sadness which follows a brave man to his grave in the very place where his work was done, just when it was done. Alas, but it is a bitter lesson to learn, even to us his old schoolfellows, who have never seen him since we parted at his "leaving breakfast." May God make us all braver and truer workers at our own small tasks, and worthy to join him, the hard fighter, the glorious Christian soldier and Englishman, when our time shall come.

On the next day, March 13th, he was carried to a soldier's grave, in the presence of the head-quarters, staff, and of Sir Colin, his last chief, who writes thus to his widow:—

"I followed your noble husband to the grave myself, in order to mark, in the most public manner, my regret and esteem for the most brilliant soldier under my command, and one whom I was proud to call my friend."

What living Englishman can add one iota to such praise from such lips? The man of whom the greatest of English soldiers could thus speak, needs no mark of official approbation, though it is a burning disgrace to the authorities that none such has been given. But the family which mourns its noblest son may be content with the rewards which his gallant life and glorious death have won for him and them,—we believe that he himself would desire no others. For his brothers-in-arms are erecting a monument to him in Lichfield Cathedral; his schoolfellows are putting up a window to him, and the other RugbÆans who have fallen with him, in Rugby Chapel; and the three regiments of Hodson's Horse will hand down his name on the scene of his work and of his death as long as Englishmen bear rule in India. And long after that rule has ceased, while England can honor brave deeds and be grateful to brave men, the heroes of the Indian mutiny will never be forgotten, and the hearts of our children's children will leap up at the names of Lawrence, Havelock, and Hodson.

Thomas Hughes.

To the Memory

SIR HENRY LAWRENCE, K. C. B.

THE TRUE CHRISTIAN, THE BRAVE SOLDIER,

THE FAITHFUL FRIEND,

THESE EXTRACTS FROM THE LETTERS OF

ONE WHOM HE TRAINED

TO FOLLOW IN HIS FOOTSTEPS, AND WHO NOW

RESTS NEAR HIM AT LUCKNOW,

Are Dedicated

BY THE EDITOR.

They were lovely and pleasant in their lives,
And in their deaths they were not divided.

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