THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES ON TO THE RESCUE : Willie had raised himself, and was gazing wonderingly on the speaker." p. 43. On to the Rescue. A TALE OF THE INDIAN MUTINY, GORDON STABLES, M.D., C.M. (Surgeon Royal Navy), AtiTHOH OF "FACING FEARFUL ODDS;" " "FOB ENGLAND, HOME, AKD BEAUTT J "HEARTS OF OAK J" 1 Stars and moon and sun may wax and wane, subside and rise, Age on age as flake on flake of showering snows be shed : Not till earth be sunless, not till death strike blind the skies, May the deathless love that waits on deathless deeds be dead. NEW EDITION. LONDON: JOHN F. SHAW AND CO., 48, PATERNOSTER ROW, B.C. UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME. TWO SAILOR LADS .. .. By DR. GORDON STABLES. IN SEARCH OF FORTUNE .. DR. GORDON STABLES. FOR ENGLAND, HOME, AND BEAUTY DR. GORDON STABLES. HEARTS OF OAK DR. GORDON STABLES. OLD ENGLAND ON THE SEA DR. GORDON STABLES. UNCLE TOM'S CABIN H. B. STOWE. GRIMM'S FAIRY TALES BROS. GRIMM. EDGAR NELTHORPE ANDREW REED. WINNING AN EMPIRE G. STEBBING. DOROTHY'S STORY .. L. T. MKADE. A TRUE GENTLEWOMAN EMMA MARSHALL. BEL-MARJORY L. T. MEADE. LOVEDAY'S HISTORY L. E. GUERNSEY. FOR HONOUR NOT HONOURS DR. GORDON STABLES. IDA VANE .. ANDREW REED. GRAHAM'S VICTORY G. STEBBING. THE END CROWNS ALL EMMA MARSHALL. THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD .. E. WBTHEKBLL. HER HUSBAND'S HOME E. EVERETT-GREEN. NIGEL BROWNING .. AGNES GIBERNE. THE FOSTER-SISTERS L. E. GUERNSEY. THE CORAL ISLAND R. M. BALLANTYNE. WINNING THE GOLDEN SPURS H. M. MILLER. ON TO THE RESCUE DR. GORDON STABLES. IN THE DASHING DAYS OF OLD ., DR. GORDON STABLES. JOHN F. SHAW & CO., 48, PATERNOSTER ROW, E.C ISO pi 7 gt&icaitott. TO INDIA'S GREATEST PRINCE AND BRITAIN'S FRIEND, HIS HIGHNESS THE NIZAM OF HYDERABAD, Cbts ffiooh te H)e5icateD WITH EVERY GOOD WISH BY AUTHOR, CONTENTS. Eoofe J. BEFORE THE OUTBREAK. OHAPTKR PACK I. BALAKLAVA LODGE . 13 II. A BIRTHDAY BALL AND WHAT CAME OF IT . 24 III. THE HIGHLAND SKKE . 36 IV. A PEACEFUL SCENE MOTHER AND SON . 48 V. SERGEANT McKiNNON, OF THE GALLANT 93RD. 59 VI. OFF TO THE WARS . ... 75 VII. "WE'LL HAE NANB BUT HIGHLAND BONNETS HERE" 84 VIII. WILLIE AND JACK . ... 100 THE MUTINY IN FULL SWING. I. "YOUR BIG BROWN BROTHER JACK" . Ill II. LIFE ON INDIAN SHORES . 120 III. "A CLOUD NO BIGGER THAN A MAN'S HAND". 131 IV. DUM-DUM AND THE STORY OF THE GREASED CARTRIDGES . 143 V. THE OUTBREAK OF THE FEARFUL STORM , ,155 xii Contents. VI. FIGHTING AND MASSACRE AT DELHI How A BRITISH 169 BOY DID HIS DOTY . ... VII. THE FLIGHT FROM DELHI STRANGE ADVENTURES OF JACK MORRISON . 180 VIII. JACK AND HIS PARTY FLY TO LUCKNOW HENRY LAWRENCE . 192 IX. A TRUE-BORN ENGLISHMAN THE FATE OF CAWN- PORE A MARCH TO DEATH . 208 X. THE MASSACRE BY THE GHAUT THE BOAT THAT DRIFTED AWAY THE LAST SAD SCENE OF ALL . 220 in. GENTLE PEACE RETURNING I. THE ANNIVERSARY OF ALMA . 231 II. HAVELOCK AND NEILL . 240 III. "THE FOE FOUGHT LIKE FIENDS" . 250 IV. OUR DEFEAT AT CHINHUT JACK'S BRAVE DEED DEATH OF LAWRENCE . ... 258 V. THE AWFUL SIEGE WHAT LILY TOLD THE AUTHOR 268 VI. LILY CONTINUES HER NARRATIVE THE HIGHLANDER'S SLOGAN. ... 281 VII. YOUNG HODSON'S BIDE BRAVE DEEDS AT DELHI . 291 VIII. IN FRONT OF LUCKNOW WHAT BOLD KAVANAGH DID 299 IX. CAWNPORE is AVENGED . 311 X. "THE EYES OF BOTH WERE DIMMED WITH TEARS". 324 XL DEATH OF HAVELOCK EN-ROUTE FOR CAWNPORE . 332 XII. THE SHIP SAILED SOUTHWARDS AND AWAY . 341 XIII. FATE OF THE ARCH-REBEL TANTIA FINAL BATTLE OF LUCKNOW . ... 346 XIV. WILLIE'S LETTER TO HIS MOTHER . 359 XV. Two YEARS AFTER THE MUTINY . 368 ON TO THE RESCUE. CHAPTER I. BALAKLAVA LODGE. AS that the moon red-rising over hills and woods? " Surely no one could mistake the moon," one might say. Ah! true, reader mine; but had you been a perfect stranger in the glen, and had you been unable to tell which was east and which was west, you would have been for a few moments puzzled indeed; for turning your back to one fiery ball, you would have seen, glimmering in a blue -grey haze, and near to the horizon, precisely such another. Yes, that is the sun, and it gets larger and more crimson every moment, till it sinks from sight behind the far-off mountains. And yonder is the moon, moving higher and higher every minute, getting a trifle smaller too, and less and less red, until her broad, round, yellow disc has shaken '3 14 On to the Rescue. itself clear of the horizon's haze, and is shining softly, sweetly over hill and dale. Then a star struggles out; then another, and it is night. But not until three or four more stars dot the dark blue of the cloudless heavens, does the mavis cease to sing. It is a wild, happy, ringing melody that of his, sound- ing out from the pine wood, and making echo ring from tree to tree. WeD, that bird has reason to be happy. It is spring- time now, or soon will be. Already there are buds on the trees and on the hedgerows, wee green dots on the white-thorn, brown, sticky burgeons on the horse-chestnut, long, smooth buds on the sycamore. Already the goat willows are hung with silver, the leaves are out on the honeysuckle, and in the haughs not far from the river's brink half-open primroses are coyly hiding in the grass. A happy, hopeful time for the mavis! His nest is built and lined, and well hidden in that low spruce tree. And only to-day his speckled-breasted mate laid one egg therein, black-ticked and turquoisine. Ah ! no wonder he sings, until the sight of the stars and the night wind, low whispering through the pines, drive him for shelter to his cosy nest. Higher and higher rises the moon ! It is smaller still now, smaller and brighter, and its mellow light silvers streamlet and lake, silvers the village church spire that points heavenwards like a finger high above that cloud-land of fir-trees, silvers the dew that lies low in the meadow, silvers the gauzy mist that Balaklava Lodge. 15 hangs over the woods, softens and spiritualizes every- thing. And now that the moon is so high above the glen, and night has really and truly come, scarcely is there a sound to be heard, save now and then the fox-like barking of a farmer's collie. Hark ! though, that is someone whistling, someone whistling a bright and merry melody as he comes trudg- ing along by the edge of the wood, a dog by his side. The notes of the mavis even were not more blithe and happy than these. But suddenly he stops. " " Bruce," he says, come here." Bruce, his honest sheepdog, is by his side in a moment, gazing up into his face with his ears well back on his neck, for he seems to know instinctively that he is about to listen to something that is not quite pleasant. Willie Saunders lifts a forefinger to emphasize his words. "Doggie," he says in Scotch, "ye maun gang hame. I 'm gaun, the nicht, where it is best ye shouldna follow. " Hame, Bruce, hame ! Bruce gives just one pleading glance up into his master's face, but seeing no signs of relenting there, he turns and trots sadly homewards. Willie Saunders buckles his plaid more tightly round him and trudges on. He walks in silence now for fully a mile; for Willie is kind-hearted, and would not like his gentle and loving collie to think his master could be happy without him. But spring and youth -time are the seasons for song 1 6 On to the Rescue. and love as well, and soon Willie begins to whistle once again, and then to sing, for whistling did not appear quite to meet the requirements of his case. A blackbird near to her grass-lined nest crouches low as Willie passes her tree. Not through fear, for no one who could sing like that would harm a bird, but to listen. "There is music in that human biped's voice," he tells his wife; "and if my own song that Nature taught me were not so sweet and melodious, I might borrow some notes from him." The mavis listens also, and, half-asleep though he is, he tries to remember some notes which, swaying on the tall larch-tree to-morrow, he will try to mimic. But in the fresh green briard* yonder is a nest of a different kind. Thereon a lark sits low on her four dark-brown eggs, and near to her is her bonnie bold mate. He listens, but it is not with pleasure, for he sings in the clouds all day, and even at night there are times when he will mount in the starlight to trill his song, as if angels called to him to join their hymns, or as if he were so full of joy and happiness that he could not wait till day. He will not borrow the note of a human biped. No; he is the bird that Shakespeare sings of " Hark 1 hark ! the lark at heaven's gate sings, And Phoebus 'gins to rise, His steeds to water at those springs On chalic'd flowers that lies ; And winking Mary-buda begin To ope their golden eyes." Springing corn.