“Capital, Dick; I’m with you, old boy.”
“Now let us take the exact bearings of the place.
There was a lane, you see, before the houses were
pulled down, running along from beyond that corner
nearly to the guns. When we get out we must steer
for that, because it is comparatively clear from rubbish,
and we ain’t so likely to knock a stone over
and make a row. We must choose some time when
they are pounding away somewhere else, and then we
shan’t be heard even if we do make a little
noise. We will ask Mrs. Hargreaves for a couple
of pieces of sponge; we need not tell her what we
want them for.”
“And you think to-night, Dick?”
“Well, to-night is just as likely to succeed
as any other night, and the sooner the thing is done
the better. Johnson commands the guard from twelve
to four, and he is an easy-going fellow, and will let
us slip out, while some of the others wouldn’t.”
SPIKING THE GUNS.
As soon as night fell a little procession with three
little forms on trays covered with white cloths, and
two of larger size, started from Gubbins’ house
to the churchyard. Mr. and Mrs. Hargreaves, and
Mrs. Righton and her husband, with two other women,
followed. That morning all the five, now to be
laid in the earth, were strong and well; but death
had been busy. In such a climate as that, and
in so crowded a dwelling, no delay could take place
between death and burial, and the victims of each day
were buried at nightfall. There was no time to
make coffins, no men to spare for the work; and as
each fell, so were they committed to the earth.
A little distance from Gubbins’ house the procession
joined a larger one with the day’s victims from
the other parts of the garrison—a total
of twenty-four, young and old. At the head of
the procession walked the Rev. Mr. Polehampton, one
of the chaplains, who was distinguished for the bravery
and self-devotion with which he labored among the sick
and wounded. The service on which they were now
engaged was in itself dangerous, for the churchyard
was very exposed to the enemy’s fire, and—
for they were throughout the siege remarkably well-informed
of what was taking place within the Residency—every
evening they opened a heavy fire in the direction
of the spot where they knew a portion of the garrison
would be engaged in this sad avocation. Quietly
and steadily the little procession moved along, though
bullets whistled and shells hissed around them.
Each stretcher with an adult body was carried by four
soldiers, while some of the little ones’ bodies
were carried by their mothers as if alive. Mrs.
Hargreaves and her daughter carried between them the
tray on which the body of little Rupert Righton lay.
Arrived at the churchyard, a long shallow trench,
six feet wide, had been prepared, and in this, side
by side, the dead were tenderly placed. Then Mr.
Polehampton spoke a few words of prayer and comfort,
and the mourners turned away, happily without one
of them having been struck by the bullets which sang
around, while some of the soldiers speedily filled
in the grave.
