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"Where-where?"

The vehicle, however, was in motion, and the noise of its wheels effectually prevented Mr. Dunderdum's voice from being heard. To say that Mr. Dunderdum was simply perplexed, would be to give but a very inadequate idea of the state of his mind. He had been travelling for the last few hours in a snow-storm of considerable severity, and at a time when he had finished his journey, as he expected, for the day, he was driven off in a direction he knew not whither, and taken charge of by a man of whom he knew nothing, and who, as far as he could remember, he had never seen in his life before. Language of an unmeaning and incomprehensible character had been addressed to him, and a degree of intrusiveness had been manifested in his affairs which was as unlooked-for as it was disagreeable. Was he not capable of managing his own business? Who was the man that thus dared to force, unsolicited, his assistance upon a stranger, and to take so prominent a part in the management of his affairs? And how came he possessed of information relative to his name-the nature and number of the packages that constituted his luggage? Could the man have been empowered by his friends to be in readiness, when the coach arrived, to receive him, and to aid him in reaching, with as much celerity as possible, the end of his journey? The latter hypothesis, however, seemed improbable, for in that case he would surely have mentioned the name of his friends, or brought a few lines from them to signify that he had been sent to meet him with this praiseworthy object. The whole affair was a mystery, and, in its present stage, altogether incapable of solution. The only word that had been used to denote the place of his destination was the adverb "there," but was it not somewhat indefinite? It opened out so wide a field for speculation, that it was hard to say where the ingenious and inquiring mind might stop in. its contemplation. There! A sermon might be preached upon it, it might form the topic of a lecture of a couple of hours' duration, an essay, a poem, a play, a romance might take it for the subject of its argument, and leave the mind in utter ignorance as to the manner in which it might be treated. There! It might mean at the antipodes, or it might mean over the way; but let us not overlook the fact that the sense in which it had been applied was not quite so indefinite after all, for a few words had been added which tended greatly to qualify the term, and to disentangle it, in some measure, from the obscurity in which it was enwrapped-"There in a few minutes." Clearly the spot indicated was at no great distance; but such a multiplicity of places lay around, all of which might be reached within a few minutes, that the mind was again lost in a wide sea of doubt and difficulty. A gaol, a chapel, a church, a bridge, an hospital-all these and a thousand other objects were in the immediate vicinity. Hence it was impossible to come to any conclusion as to the nature of the place to which they were directing their course. One other consideration suggests itself. The word had been employed in a manner that would appear to indicate some wellknown and established place, and which it was unnecessary, by any circumlocution, further to indicate. There! The spot was fixed in the traveller's mind, he had been thinking of it for the seven or eight hours preceding, his whole thoughts were concentrated upon it, it was the alpha and omega of his day's reflections; what use was there, there

The preparations were now made for Ellen's wedding, which, alas! was fated never to be solemnised. On the morning of the 10th of May, or the day prior to the wedding, while the party were seated at breakfast, a sergeant rushed in without preface or apology and requested speech with Lieutenant Hood. After a short conference the young man took a hurried leave and started for cantonments. The news the messenger had brought was of the massacre of Meerut, and the march of the rebels on Delhi. The scene of confusion this produced in the lately so merry party was indescribable, until Mr. Grant, the clergyman, bade all present join in a prayer, and then called the gentlemen apart to consult about what should be done. Fortunately the Hindoo servants remained staunch, although all the ryots had disappeared, and some preparations were hurriedly made to arm and equip them in the event of the rebels attacking the factory. Not long and they saw Brigadier Graves's small force defiling past the avenue. This gave them fresh courage, for they naturally assumed that the rebels would be disbanded by the mere sight of English troops. Not long and they saw the same soldiers returning in full retreat on Meerut, for the 38th, 54th, and 74th Native Regiments had betrayed them. This led to the ruin of the bungalow, for the artillery made a stand on a mound near the house, and the Sepoys tried to outflank them by marching through the grounds. At the moment when the affrighted party were expecting an immediate assault from the Sepoys, a Hindoo rushed up with a letter from Mr. Hood, begging the family to retire into Delhi before the bridge of boats was rendered unserviceable. This request must be obeyed. The family hurriedly collected some money and jewels, while the servants brought out the only three horses left (for the rest had been taken by the visitors and the European servants), and the family set out on their mournful march. Of three hundred natives to whom they had given bread and labour, only Will's nurse, a Malabar woman, accompanied them, and the steward, a worthy Mussulman. The latter had got out the elephant and laden it with all sorts of stores in the absence of the mahout. When the party reached the bridge they turned round to survey once more the scene of past happiness; but dense clouds of smoke were ascending from the bungalow, and they fervently thanked Heaven for having saved them from such imminent danger, little foreseeing that the time would come when they would have gladly welcomed such a death. At the bridge, Mrs. Hornstreet was assailed by fresh apprehensions, for the temper of the natives appeared fearfully changed, and any accident might endanger their lives. They consequently dismounted and walked along behind the elephant as it majestically cleft its way through the crowd in the direction of a Mr. Craig's house, where they expected to find shelter. On reaching it they found that the family had already left, the gentlemen for the Flag Tower, the ladies for the palace of the Begum Sumroo. After some reflection they determined on proceeding to the Arsenal, as the most likely place for the English to congregate. On the road they had fearful evidence of the brutality of the Sepoys. They marched past in companies, each regiment distinct, and led by a European officer; but, fearful mockery, they only bore the heads of their officers along with their shakos still on to show the various grades. With great difficulty the party succeeded in creeping along under the half-ruined walls of the

royal palace until they came to the street leading to the Jumna Mosque, beyond which they found it impossible to proceed, owing to the tremendous firing. Gradually, too, the crowd around them grew denser, and they were exposed to great peril, until they took shelter in the court-yard of a large house which had already been plundered. Here they were obliged to bid adieu to the faithful steward, for the elephant could not pass through the doorway.

The house belonged to a rich English family, whose name I have forgotten. Savage-looking men, or rather half-naked demons, rushed through the rooms, destroyed mirrors and furniture, tore up the flooring, destroyed the walls, and sent a shower of fragments down into the yard, where they were carefully_collected to form a pyre like that of the Suttees. While this was going on, others, furious men with their cultries in their hands, were ransacking every corner of the house. They were evidently searching for a victim they had trapped, for every moment they uttered shouts of joy or anger, according to the result of their search. Without being ourselves seen, we could observe all this from the spot where we had assembled near a cellar window in the yard, beneath the stem of a mighty catalpa. Ellen, the Malabar woman, and myself were cowering on the ground, while my husband stood upright with a revolver in his hand. Suddenly the cellar near which we stood was illuminated; piercing shrieks of women and children came up to us; the noise of a desperate struggle lasted for several minutes. Then all grew dark and quiet again. Soon after, a tall man, with torn clothes and bleeding face, was dragged into the yard by a band of ruffians, who led him to the bonfire. It was then set on fire, and the smoke poured forth in volumes. I imagined they were about to murder the Englishman and cast him into the flames; but I did not yet know the barbarity of our gentle Sepoys. They left the unhappy man perfect liberty of movement, but pointed their knives at his breast, and formed a dense circle round the pyre. The tortured man did not deign to beg the charity of a thrust or a bullet through his heart; he seemed determined to die the death of a hero. He turned his back to the fire, crossed his hands over his chest, and seemed to be praying. At length, the circle that surrounded him closed in, and the murderers stabbed at him so savagely that he fell back into the flames. A long and loud shout of joy accompanied his terrible fall.

The court-yard was gradually deserted, and the terrified family decided on seeking a shelter in the house, for they hoped that the steward might still come back to their assistance. But Mrs. Hornstreet was determined to visit the cellar where the terrible scene had taken place, and after leaving her boy and the nurse up-stairs, she went down to the vault. What she found there we cannot describe: suffice it to say that they found two women and a child still living in that awful scene of massacre. Suddenly they were interrupted in their charitable task by the arrival of the faithful steward, who offered to lead them to the house of a Mussulman friend of his, where they would be in greater safety, if they could succeed in entering his house unnoticed. The two still bleeding women were lifted on to the howdah by the husband, while Mrs. Hornstreet hastened up-stairs to fetch her son. What was her horror to find that the Malabar woman had disappeared with him without saying a word. In vain did the distracted mother search through the whole house; but the safety of all was imperilled by any further delay, and the mournful procession set out, Ellen by this time being quite insane, and the mother almost in the same condition. On reaching the house, Mohammed held a hurried conference with his friend, which resulted in the party being

VOL. XLIII.

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admitted, and they felt themselves in safety at last. The party spent a restless night, as may be imagined, to which extra discomfort was added by the ungracious conduct of the two women who had been saved, and eventually turned out to be an English cook and a housemaid.

The next day at noon, after they had been fearfully terrified by the explosion of the magazine, Mohammed entered the room in great alarm. Instead of giving them the provisions they had been expecting, he tore up the bamboo framing of the divan and bade them conceal themselves if they wished to save their lives. They were hardly hidden, ere a band of infuriated Sepoys rushed in, crying "Death to the Feringhees!" They had a narrow escape, for some of the men passed their swords through the seats, and one of them entered the ground between Mrs. Hornstreet's arm and leg. At length the Sepoys quitted the room, and the party could breathe in safety. The same night came a gentle tapping at the door, and, on opening it, two Hindoo women came in, bearing a bundle of clothes; they were sent by Mohammed, and the little party had no hesitation in following them. On the road a fearful incident occurred:

An unforeseen obstacle arrested us at the foot of the immense deodara-tree, which overshadowed the entire road. A regiment of Sepoys was drawn up in rank and file before the Boschum-ud-Dowlah mosque. We should have been lost if the sun had been already risen: our disguise would have been useless, for our cotton garments only hung down to our knees, so that our European shoes would have betrayed us. While standing against the stem of the tree, I suddenly noticed blood appear on my right sleeve, and the stain grow gradually larger. Did this blood come from my own arm? But no, I was not even wounded. I carefully observed the spots, and soon discovered that it was raining blood! I looked up, and saw at first only the dark foliage of the deodara; but on looking more closely I detected several bodies slowly swaying in the breeze. A corpse was hanging from every bough, and though I changed my place repeatedly the shower of blood would not cease.

The Hindoo woman led our party into a cellar filled with bundles of reeds and bamboos. When these were removed a small passage was visible, into which she thrust them all, and carefully concealed the opening again. Here they found a number of other ladies, whom a generous Parsee had saved at the risk of his own life, and concealed in the crypts of his garden, which was planted over the ruins of one of the Indian palaces. There were no gentlemen here, for the darogah had but recently searched through the crypts and assassinated two or three wounded civilians he found. The women he had spared out of policy, as he expected to make good ransom by them, or give them up to the Sepoys whenever in danger himself. The Hornstreet family remained in this hiding-place until the 18th, but then they were forced to come to a decision, and the father determined on returning to the bungalow. To this the mother gladly consented, for she hoped that she might find her Willy again there. On quitting the cellar, under the escort of the Hindoo woman, they were joined by four men clothed in white, and great was their joy at recognising in one of them William Hood, who had also escaped death by a miracle. They managed to cross the bridge in safety, as William had heavily bribed the havildar on duty before he began his perilous search after his friends in Delhi. He had entered the city every night, accompanied by three faithful men, having bribed the havildar of his regiment, who had charge of the Calcutta gate, to give him free

ingress and egress, and at last he had gone to the bungalow to try and gain information. There he met Mohammed, who told him where his friends were to be found. How great was Mrs. Hornstreet's joy when he told her that her Willy was there in safety. In her selfishness she hardly regretted to hear that the faithful Mohammed had been hanged in front of the house as a friend of the detested Christians.

So soon as the child had been recovered, the party set out at once for the river, where a boat was held in readiness for them, and they hastened down the river towards Agra. The voyage lasted six days, and on the last night they landed on the left bank of the river, hoping to be in safety on the ensuing morning. But they were bitterly undeceived when they learned from some passing boatmen that the English were shut up in the citadel, and there was no possibility of reaching it in safety. After a long consultation, they decided on going down the river to Cawnpore, where they knew that General Wheeler was still holding out. But an unexpected difficulty occurred: the boatman, who had been only hired to go to Agra, refused to proceed, and they were at length obliged to buy his boat. Two boatmen offered their services from a near lying boat, and were accepted. Unfortunately they were Thugs, and the consequence was that on the second evening the boat sprang a leak, and sank to the bottom at the only spot where it was difficult to reach land. However, they succeeded, and after lighting a fire they lay down to rest. Mrs. Hornstreet was restless, and fancied she saw forms flitting about them during the night, and at length, in her terror, she called to her husband. He and Mr. Hood sprang up and searched all around, but no one was visible. However, on proceeding to wake the boatmen it was found they had disappeared, having artfully dressed up bundles of reeds to represent sleeping figures.

A long argument now ensued as to their further progress: Mr. Hood suggested that they should follow the Great Trunk Road, and try to reach Allahabad. Mr. Hornstreet, on the contrary, proposed that they should attempt to reach Gwalior. The matter was referred to Mrs. Hornstreet for decision, and she agreed with Mr. Hood. Thus, their fate was settled :

With daybreak we set out, after recommending ourselves to the Divine mercy. After two long hours' march along the river bank, partly through sand, partly through the tall vegetation of a marshy soil, pursued by clouds of mosquitoes, terrified by the hissing of the snakes, without the shade of the chattiewallahs and the lofty trees, burned by the tropical sun, whose beams filled the air with suffocating heat, we at length reached a dense wood, at the extremity of which the path forked. The right arm lost itself in the depths of the forest, the left skirted the wood, as far as the eye could extend. We sank down from fatigue. Peter and William groaned beneath the weight of our scanty baggage and provisions; I carried Will in turn with Ellen, while he asked incessantly for water, as he pointed to the sparkling waves of the Jumna. I feared a mortal attack of fever for him, if I allowed him to drink a drop of this poisoned water, and was in despair because I could not quench his thirst. How wistfully I regarded the nuts on the top of the waving cocoa-trees, which I was unable to reach and quench his thirst! Not a banana or orange-tree was visible on this road of misery! not a spring or rivulet! here pestiferous marshes, further on burning sand, and even the path we followed seemed not made by man, but by wild beasts. I believe Willy would have died in my arms if we had been forced to continue our journey the whole day.

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