As Heideck had foreseen, the announcement of the victory was followed by disastrous tidings for the English. Up to noon on the following day Bombay had waited in vain for confirmation of the despatch and fuller particulars. Very late in the evening, amidst a general feeling of depression, the Governor published the following despatch from the Commander-in-Chief:—

“The enemy having been reported in great force yesterday to the north of Delhi, our army took up a favourable defensive position, and a battle was fought with great honour to the British arms. The Russians suffered enormous losses. The approach of darkness preventing us from following up the advantages we had gained, I ordered the main body of the army to carry out a strategic retreat on Lucknow, chiefly along the railway. Simpson’s brigade remained behind to defend Delhi. The heavy guns of the Sha, Calcutta gate, and north gate bastions were very effective. All arms distinguished themselves, and deserve the highest praise. The bridge over the Jumna is intact and affords direct communication with General Simpson.”

While Mr. Kennedy was sitting pondering over this despatch, Heideck came up to him.

“A decisive defeat, isn’t it, Mr. Heideck?” said he. “As a military man, you can read between the line, better than I can. But I know Delhi. If the Jumna bridge batteries have been firing, the Russians must be on the point of capturing this passage. The north gate bastion is the head of the bridge.”

Heideck was obliged to agree; but he had read more in the despatch, and drew the worst conclusions from the general’s retreat on Lucknow.

No more despatches from the theatre of war were published during the day, since the Governor was desirous of concealing the melancholy state of affairs from the people. But Mr. Kennedy, who had been in Government House, knew more. He told Heideck that the English army had fled in complete disorder, having lost 8,000 killed and wounded, twenty guns, and a number of colours and standards. The Government had already abandoned all hope of saving Delhi, for General Simpson could not possibly hold it. “We have lost India,” sorrowfully concluded Mr. Kennedy. “It is the grave of my last hopes.”

. . . . . . .

The Caledonia was moored in Victoria Dock, which formed part of the magnificent harbour on the east coast of the peninsula. In the midst of a seething crowd the passengers were making their way on board. Many wounded and sick officers and soldiers were returning on the fast steamer to England, and filled the places intended for passengers. No travellers to Europe on business or pleasure were to be seen. All the women on board belonged to the families of the military. The general feeling was one of extreme melancholy.

Before embarking Heideck had discharged his faithful servant. Morar Gopal, with tears in his eyes, had begged him to take him with him, but Heideck was afraid that the European climate would be the death of the poor fellow. Besides, he would have been obliged to part with him on active service. So he gave him a hundred rupees—a fortune for Morar Gopal.

The great steamer moved slowly out of the basin of the harbour, past English merchantmen and the white ships of war, which had brought troops and war material.

As the Caledonia, continually increasing her speed, made her way through the outer harbour, Heideck saw some twenty men-of-war in the roadstead, including several large ironclads. English troops from Malta were being landed in boats from two transports, the decks of which glistened with arms.

The Caledonia proceeded with increasing rapidity into the open sea. The city and its lighthouses disappeared in the distance, the blue mountains of the mainland and of the island were lost in a floating mist. A long, glittering, white furrow followed in the wake of the steamer.

It was a wonderful journey for all whom a load of anxiety had not rendered insensible to the grandeur of Nature. Heideck, happy at being at last on the way home, enjoyed the beauty of sea and sky to the full. The uneasy doubts which sometimes assailed him as to his own and Edith’s future were suppressed by the charm of her presence. Her impetuosity caused him perpetual anxiety, but he loved her. Ever since she had declared that she would never leave him she had been all devotion and tenderness, as if tormented by a constant fear that he might nevertheless one day cast her off.

So they sat once again, side by side, on the promenade deck. The azure billows of the sea splashed round the planks of the vessel. The boundless surface of ocean glittered with a marvellous brilliancy, and everything seemed bathed in a flood of light. The double awning over the heads of the young couple kept off the burning heat of the sun, and a refreshing breeze swept across the deck beneath it.

“Then you would land with me at Brindisi?” asked Heideck.

“At Brindisi, or Aden, or Port Said—where you like.”

“I think Brindisi will be the most suitable place. Then we can travel together to Berlin.”

Edith nodded assent.

“But I don’t know how long I shall stay in Berlin,” continued Heideck. “I hope I shan’t be sent to join my regiment at once.”

“If you are I shall go with you, wherever it may be,” she said as quietly as if it were a matter of course.

“That would hardly be possible,” he rejoined, with a smile. “We Germans make war without women.”

“And yet I shall go with you.”

Heideck looked at her in amazement. “But don’t you understand, dear, that it would be something entirely novel, and bound to create a sensation, for a German officer to take the field with his betrothed?”

“I am not afraid of what people think. I don’t care what the Kennedys may say if I leave the ship at Brindisi and go with you. Of course it will be a sad downfall for me. They would look on me as a lost woman from that moment. But I care nothing about that. I have long been cured of the foolish idea that we must sacrifice our happiness to what the world may say.”

Of course Heideck refused to take her words seriously. He did not believe she meant to accompany him to the field, and seized the opportunity of making a proposal which he had already carefully considered.

“I should think the best thing for you to do, my dear Edith, would be to go to my uncle at Hamburg and stay there till the war is over. Then—if Heaven spare my life—there will be nothing to prevent our union.”

As she made no answer Heideck, who wanted to give her time to think, hastened to turn the conversation.

“Look how beautiful it is!” he said, pointing to the water.

A long succession of white, foaming waves kept pace with the vessel on either side. The keel seemed to be cutting its way through a number of tiny cliffs, over which the sea was breaking. But closer inspection showed that they were no cliffs, but countless shoals of large fish, swimming alongside the ship, as if in order of battle. From time to time they leaped high out of the water, their bright, scaly bodies glistening in the sun.

“I should like to be one of those dolphins,” said Edith. “Look, how free they are! how they enjoy life!”

“You believe in the transmigration of souls?” said Heideck jestingly; “perhaps you have once been such a dolphin yourself.”

“Then certainly I have made no change for the better. There is no doubt that our higher intellectual development prevents us from properly enjoying our natural existence. But it teaches us to feel more deeply the sorrows, which are far more numerous than the joys of human life.”

. . . . . . .

The journey through the Indian Ocean took six days, and Heideck frequently had an opportunity of hearing the views of English officers and officials on the political situation. All blamed the incapacity of the Government, which had brought England into so perilous a situation.

“The good old principles of English policy have been abandoned,” said a Colonel, who had been severely wounded and was returning home invalided. “In former times England made her conquests when the continental Powers were involved in war, or she carried on war with allies, to enlarge her possessions. But she has never allowed herself to be so disgracefully surprised before. Of course we shall beat France and Germany, for it is a question of sea power. But even when they are beaten, we shall still have the worst of it; the loss of India is as bad for England’s health and efficiency as the amputation of my left leg for me. I am returning to England a cripple, and my poor country will only be a cripple after she has lost India.”

“Quite true,” said Mr. Kennedy; “I am afraid it will be difficult—impossible, to recover India. We were able to rob the French, the Dutch, and the Portuguese of their Indian possessions, since their only connexion with India was by sea; but the Russians will annex the peninsula to their Empire and, even in case of a defeat, will be able to send fresh troops without number overland. I can already see them attacking Calcutta, Bombay, and Madras, occupying the harbours built with our money, and building a fleet in our docks with the resources of India.”

“We have no right to blame the continental Powers,” continued the Colonel, “for using our defeats for their own aggrandisement. There is no Power at whose expense we have not grown great. We took all our possessions by force of arms from the Spaniards, the Dutch, the Portuguese, and the French; we have always opposed Russia, since she began to develop her power. We supported Turkey, we invaded the Crimea and destroyed Sebastopol, we suffocated her fleet in the Black Sea. But this time we are out of our reckoning. We have allowed the Japanese to attack Russia; but if our ministers believed that Japan would fight for any one but herself, they have made a great mistake. Russia is making us pay for her losses in the Far East.”

“It is not Russia, but Germany, that is our worst enemy,” contradicted Mr. Kennedy. “Russia has only been our enemy since we let Germany grow so powerful. I remember how our ministers exulted when Prussia was at war with France and Austria. The continent of Europe again seemed paralysed for a long time by internal disruption. But our triumph was short-lived! No one had suspected that Prussia would prove so strong. Then the first defects in our policy became apparent. After the first German victories on the Rhine, England ought to have concluded an alliance with France and declared war against Prussia. Great political revolutions require considerable time, and a clever government should always look ahead. Bismarck slowly prepared England’s defeat. Thirty years ago we had a presentiment of this; it threatened us like a storm-cloud, but our Government had not the courage to look things in the face and lacked the energy.”

A general, who had hitherto said nothing, took up the conversation. He belonged to the engineers, and was on his way to take over the command of Gibraltar.

“We talk about the loss of India,” said he; “but who knows whether we have not to fear an invasion of England herself?”

“Impossible!” exclaimed all the gentlemen present; “England will never allow her men-of-war to be driven out of the Channel.”

“I hope so too, but I don’t know whether you gentlemen remember how close the danger of Napoleon landing an army on English soil once was.”

“And if it had made its appearance, it would have been smashed to pieces by British fists!” cried Mr. Kennedy.

“Perhaps. But why have we never consented to the Channel Tunnel being made? All military authorities, especially Wolseley, are absolutely opposed to opening a road so convenient for traffic and trade. They have always declared that England must remain an island, only accessible by sea. This is certainly the first and most essential condition of England’s power.”

“Well, then,” said Mr. Kennedy, “as England is still an island, and we have always adhered to the principle of keeping a fleet superior to that of the two strongest naval powers, where is the danger?”

“Danger? There is always a danger, when one has enemies,” replied the General. “I maintain that at the beginning of the nineteenth century, it was a toss up whether Napoleon crossed or not; and I don’t believe that we should have been a match for our great opponent, if he had once got a firm footing on our coast.”

“His plan was a visionary one and therefore impracticable.”

“His plan only failed because it was too complicated. If he had had modern telegraphic communication at his disposal, this would not have been the case. He could have directed the operations of his fleet by cable. If Admiral Villeneuve had sailed to Brest (instead of Cadiz) as he was ordered and joined Admiral Gantaume, he would have had fifty-six ships of the line to cover Napoleon’s passage from Boulogne to the English coast. No, gentlemen, you must not think England’s strategical position unassailable. I am as confident of the superiority of our naval forces as you are, but in these days of steam and electricity England is no longer as safe as she was when the movement of ships depended on the wind and orders had to be given by mounted messengers and signals.”

“So you really think, General, that Napoleon’s plan would have been practicable?”

“Most certainly. Napoleon had no luck in this enterprise. In the first place, his greatest misfortune was the death of Admiral Latouche-Treville. If he had been in Villeneuve’s place, he would most likely have proved a competent commander. He was the only French naval officer who could have opposed Nelson. But he died too soon for France, and his successor, Villeneuve, was his inferior in ability. But there are other special circumstances, more favourable to a landing in England than in Napoleon’s day. For instance—to say nothing of cable and steam—the fact that modern transports can carry an enormously larger number of troops. Napoleon had to fit out 2,293 vessels to transport his army of 150,000 men and to protect the transports, had 1,204 gunboats and 135 other armed vessels at his disposal, in addition to the transports proper. As nearly all his ships were constructed to land men, horses, and guns on the level beach without the aid of boats, they wanted calm weather for crossing the Channel. They would have taken about ten hours, with a calm sea, to reach a point between Dover and Hastings. It is different now. The large French and German companies’ steamers are at the disposal of their Admiralties.”

“And yet things are just the same as before,” said Mr. Kennedy. “Victory on the open sea turns the scale. No hostile fleet will be able to show itself in the Channel without being destroyed by ours.”

“Let us hope so!” said the General.

On the way to Aden the Caledonia only met a few ships—all English. Several transports with troops on board and a few men-of-war passed her; as she travelled on the average twenty-two knots an hour, no vessel overtook her. On the morning of the sixth day the reddish brown rocks of Aden appeared, and the Caledonia cast anchor in the roadstead. A number of small vessels darted towards her. Naked, black Arab boys cried for money and showed their skill in diving, fishing up pieces of silver thrown from the ship. As the Caledonia had to coal, those passengers who were able to move went ashore in boats rowed by Arabs.

Heideck joined the Kennedy family.

When the boat reached the deeply indented harbour, which with its numerous bends between fortified heights afforded a safe shelter for a whole fleet, Heideck saw some twenty English men-of-war, and at least three times that number of French and German and a few Russian merchantmen, which had been captured by the English. Several cruisers of the three Powers at war with England also lay in the harbour. They had been captured in the Indian Ocean at the outbreak of war by superior English naval forces.

As the party had the whole day at their disposal, Mr. Kennedy took a conveyance, and Heideck drove with the family to the town, which, invisible from the roadstead, lay embedded between high, peaked mountains. The road went past a large, open space, on which thousands of camels and donkeys were exposed for sale. Here Heideck had the opportunity of admiring, close at hand, the mighty fortifications which the English had constructed on the important corner of the mountain commanding the sea since the capture of Aden by them from the Turks on the 9th of January, 1839. They also inspected the remarkable tanks, those famous cisterns which supply Aden with water, some fifty basins said to hold 30,000,000 gallons of water, whose origin is lost in the hoary mist of antiquity. They are said to have been constructed by the Persians.

About seven o’clock in the evening the passengers were again on board. While the Caledonia continued her journey, they were absorbed in the perusal of the English, French, and German newspapers which they had bought at Aden. The papers were ten days old, certainly, but contained much that was new to the travellers.

It was very hot in the Red Sea, and most of the first-class passengers slept on deck, as they had done just before they reached Aden. Part of the deck, over which a sail had been stretched, was specially reserved for ladies.

The Caledonia, having again coaled at Port Said, where a number of English men-of-war were lying, resumed her journey, with unfavourable weather and a rather rough sea, into the Mediterranean. Passing along the south of Crete, the steamer turned northwest in the direction of Brindisi, where she was due on the eighth day after leaving Aden. On the morning of the seventh day a ship was seen coming from the north side of Crete, whose appearance caused the captain of the Caledonia the liveliest anxiety, which soon communicated itself to the passengers. All the telescopes and field-glasses were directed towards the vessel, whose course was bound to cut across that of the Caledonia. She soon came near enough to be recognised. She was the small French cruiser Forbin, and was bound to meet the Caledonia if the latter continued her course.

The Forbin was a third-class cruiser, not so fast as the Caledonia (the officers estimated her speed at twenty-one knots), which could have beaten her in a race; but if the Caledonia made for Brindisi, she was bound to meet the Frenchman, and could only expect to be captured. Accordingly, the captain altered his course and turned westwards towards Malta, without heeding the signal to stop or the shots that were fired, one of which only went through the rigging, without doing any damage worth mentioning.

“It is now noon,” said Heideck. “We ought to be in Brindisi to-morrow. Instead, we shall be in La Valetta, unless the captain changes his course again and trusts to the speed of the Caledonia to reach Brindisi in spite of the Forbin.”

Then a loud shout was heard. The look-out man reported a ship on the port side, and in a few minutes two other vessels suddenly appeared.

One of them afterwards proved to be the French second-class cruiser Arethuse; the others were the protected cruiser Chanzy and a torpedo-destroyer.

The Caledonia could not possibly get past the French in the direction of Malta, for the destroyer was much faster and capable of making, at full speed, twenty-seven knots an hour. The captain had no choice; he accordingly turned round, and began to make for Alexandria again.

While the great vessel was wheeling round, those on board perceived that the French had seen her and had started in pursuit.

Meanwhile the Forbin had approached considerably nearer and was attempting to cut off the Caledonia. The captain accordingly gave orders to steer further south.

Heideck, standing with Edith on the promenade-deck, followed the movements of the vessels.

“What would happen to us if the French overtook us?” asked Edith. “Surely they would not fire on an unarmed ship?”

“Certainly not. But they would call upon us to discontinue our journey, and then they would take the Caledonia to the nearest French port.”

“Is that the rule of naval warfare? Is the general law of nations so defective that a passenger steamer can be captured? The Caledonia is not a combatant. She is taking home wounded men and harmless passengers.”

“Our captain doesn’t seem to have much confidence in the laws of naval warfare or nations in this case,” said Heideck. “In fact, nothing is more uncertain than these definitions. Strictly speaking, there is no such thing as international law; the stronger does what he likes with the weaker, and the only check on the arbitrariness of the victor is the fear of public opinion. But this fear does not weigh much with him who has might on his side, especially as he knows that public opinion can be bribed.”

“Then,” said Edith, with a pitiful smile, “international law is very like the law which is generally practised amongst human beings on land.”

“Besides, the French would not make a bad catch if they brought in the Caledonia,” continued Heideck. “Of the eight hundred passengers about three hundred belong to the army, and I have heard that there are large sums of money on board.”

The promenade-deck was full of first-class passengers, who anxiously followed the movements of the ships. The second-class and steerage passengers were equally anxious. In the most favourable circumstances, if the Caledonia escaped her pursuers, her passage would, of course, be considerably delayed. But it was hardly to be expected that she would reach Alexandria; for though the Chanzy (travelling about twenty-two knots) was obviously outpaced, the destroyer kept creeping up and the Forbin was dangerously near.

Then a fresh surprise was reported. Two steamships were coming towards the Caledonia. All glasses were directed to where the tiny pillars of smoke appeared above the surface of the water, and it was soon seen beyond doubt that they carried the British flag.

The second officer informed the passengers that they were the first-class cruiser Royal Arthur and the gunboat O’Hara. He expressed his hope that the Caledonia would reach their protection before the French overtook her.

The water was fairly calm. Sky and sea had ceased to shine and sparkle since the Caledonia had left the Suez Canal and emerged into the Mediterranean. The grey colouring, peculiar to European latitudes, was seen instead, and streaky clouds scudded over the pale-blue sky. The movements of the ships could be closely followed by this light.

The English vessels approached rapidly. When the distance between the Royal Arthur and the French destroyer was about two knots and a half the cruiser opened fire from her bow-guns upon the destroyer, which only stood out a little above the surface of the water. One of the heavy shot whizzed so closely past the Caledonia, which was now between the two, that the passengers could plainly hear the howling noise of the shell as it cut through the air.

The Frenchman, without returning the fire, slackened speed, to wait till the Chanzy came up. Meanwhile the Forbin advanced from the north and opened fire from its bow-guns upon the British gunboat, and soon afterwards the Chanzy fired its first shot. The position of the vessels was now as follows: the gunboat lay broadside opposite the Forbin, the two cruisers were firing with their bow-guns on each other, while the destroyer kept in the background. In the meantime the Caledonia had advanced so far that she was completely protected by the British guns.

If the captain had now continued his course he would probably have reached Alexandria in safety. But he wished to avoid the delay, which would have been considerable, and the entreaties of the passengers, who, greatly excited, begged him to remain near the scene of action, coincided with his own wishes.

Accordingly the Caledonia slackened speed, and took up a position to the south-east of the field of battle, whence she could make for Brindisi or Alexandria as soon as the result was decided.

For some time neither side gained the advantage. The Chanzy and Royal Arthur had turned broadsides to each other and fired, but the effect was not visible from the Caledonia.

Suddenly the Royal Arthur began to move in a northerly direction, firing upon the enemy from her stern-guns.

“It almost looks as if he meant to help the O’Hara,” said Heideck to Edith, who was standing by his side with a field-glass. “The gunboat is clearly no match for the Forbin, and has perhaps been hopelessly damaged.”

In fact, the Royal Arthur continued her course northwards, maintaining an incessant fire upon the Chanzy and the destroyer, which still kept on the watch in the rear, and made for the Forbin, on which she immediately opened fire with her bow-guns.

As the scene of action thus shifted further and further north, the captain of the Caledonia resolved to turn westwards again. It did not seem advisable to call at Malta, but assuming that the Royal Arthur could hold the French ships for a considerable time, he might fairly hope to reach Brindisi, his original destination.

But the course of events disappointed his hopes. A ship was reported ahead, which proved to be the Arethuse, bearing down straight on the Caledonia. To avoid meeting her the captain immediately headed northwards. This brought the Caledonia closer to the scene of action than had been intended, so close that a British shell, discharged at the destroyer lying to the east, flew over the low French vessel, and fell into the sea right before the bows of the Caledonia, raising great jets of water.

A few seconds later the French destroyer moved rapidly in the direction of the Royal Arthur, and the passengers of the Caledonia, and all the sailors on the now more restricted field of operations, witnessed a fearful sight. The destroyer had seized the right moment to attack, and from one of its tubes had launched a torpedo with splendid aim against the enemy. In the centre of the Royal Arthur, just above the water-line, a tiny cloud of smoke was seen, and then a large column of water spurting up. At the same time a dull, loud report was heard that shook the air for a considerable distance round and drowned the thunder of the guns.

It looked as if the cruiser was being torn asunder by the hands of giants. The enormous hull split in two. Slowly the prow leaned forwards, the stern backwards. Immediately afterwards both parts righted themselves again, as if they would close up over the gaping breach. But this movement only lasted a few seconds. Then the weight of the water rushing in drew the gigantic hull into the depths. The Royal Arthur sank with awe-inspiring rapidity. Now only her three funnels were seen above the surface of the water; a few minutes later nothing was visible save the top of the mast and the top-pennants hoisted for battle. Then a mighty, foaming billow rose on high, and only the breaking of the waves marked the spot where the proud cruiser lay.

The guns had ceased firing, and deep silence reigned on all the ships. The passengers were paralysed by overwhelming horror. The captain ordered all the boats to be launched to go to the assistance of the crew of the Royal Arthur. The Chanzy also was seen to be letting down boats. The O’Hara fled, to avoid falling into the hands of the superior French forces, and withdrew from the scene of action in an easterly direction, pursued by the Forbin, which sent shot after shot after her. If the captain of the Caledonia had abandoned all idea of flight, he was not only following the dictates of humanity, but obeying the signals of the destroyer, ordering him to bring to. He knew that there was no longer any chance of escape for the steamer entrusted to his care, since the shells of the Royal Arthur had ceased to threaten the enemy.

The struggles of the unhappy men, who had reached the surface from the gloomy depths, and were now making desperate efforts to save themselves, presented an affecting sight. Those who could not swim soon went under, unless they succeeded in getting hold of some floating object. Every second more of the numerous heads, which had been seen above the water immediately after the sinking of the cruiser, disappeared, and there was no doubt that the crews of the boats, though working heroically, would only be able to save a small part of the crew.

Meanwhile the commander of the Chanzy’s gig lay to at the gangway of the Caledonia. The first officer, with four marines and a non-commissioned officer, boarded the steamer and saluted the captain with naval politeness.

“I greatly regret, sir, to be compelled to inconvenience you and your passengers. But I am acting under orders, and must ask you to show me your papers and to allow me to search the ship.”

“It is yours to command, as things are,” replied the Englishman gloomily.

He then went down with the Frenchman into the cabin, while the non-commissioned officer remained with the soldiers on the gangway. The proceedings lasted nearly two hours, during which the work of rescuing the crew of the Royal Arthur was continued unremittingly. A hundred and twenty soldiers and sailors and five officers, besides the commander, were saved. Most of the officers and crew were lost.

Unusual steps were taken to secure the prize. The captain, with the first and second officers, was taken on board the Chanzy. The first officer of the Chanzy took command of the ship, and two lieutenants and fifty men were transferred to the Caledonia. These precautions were sufficiently justified by the great value of the cargo. According to the ship’s papers, the Caledonia carried no less than 20,000,000 rupees, some in specie, others in silver bars, consigned from Calcutta to England. The French commander was naturally very anxious to take so valuable a cargo safely to Toulon.

A further triumph fell to the lot of the French. The British gunboat, flying the tricolour in place of the Union Jack, was brought back to the scene of action by the Forbin. All four French ships accompanied the two captive vessels on the voyage to Toulon—full steam ahead.