Sahib and Sepoy; or, Saving an Empire. A tale of the Indian Mutiny

Front matter

Splendid for *B0%S- By Dr. GORDON STABLES. Large Crown 8vo, FIVE SHILLINGS each, Gilt Edges, with Illustrations. IN THE DASHING DAYS OF OLD; Or, The World-wide Adventures of Willie Grant. We can commend this book as the best story for boys which we have read for many a day."— English Churchman. "Can be safely recommended as one of the very best books that could possibly be placed in a boy's hand."— Schoolmaster. FOR HONOUR NOT HONOURS. The Story of Gordon of Khartoum. " The appropriate title of this inspiriting story of Charles George Gordon's life, which Dr Stables has retold in an admirable fashion." — Saturday Review. ' Dr. Gordon Stables has written again the story of General Gordon, in 'For Honour not Honours,' and no English boy will tire of reading it." — Pail Mali Gazette. ON TO THE RESCUE.

A Tale of the Indian Mutiny. 11 A capital story of the Indian Mutiny. The boy who gets hold of this book is certain to thoroughly enjoy it." — The Record. ''Told with a vivid wealth of detail which holds the interest and thrills the senses of the reader from the first page to the last.*' — Pall Mall Gazette. " With such a writer and such a theme our boys may be sure of a thrilling story." Sword and Trowel. SHOULDER TO SHOULDER. A Story of the Stirring Times of Old. " Full of incident and adventure, of pleasant humour, and shrewd wit ; indeed, in many ways we are inclined to think that this, his latest book, is his very best, and that is saying a very great fed."— Bookseller. " More than a mere Story of the Stirring Times of Old. The tale goes close to the heart of the reader, because it has come from the heart of the writer."

Aberdeen Free Press. tONDON: JOHN F. SHAW & CO., 48, PATERNOSTER ROW, E.C. Splendid $ooks for j3°*Ts* By Dr. GORDON STABLES. Largo Crown 8vo, FIVE SHILLINGS each, Gilt Edges, with Illnstratlons. HEARTS OF OAK. A Story of Nelson and the Navy. 'Tom Bure, the hero, will charm every boy that gets hold of it.'* — Literacy World. "A Story of the Navy and of mighty Nelson, told with excellent spirit." Saturday Review. EXILES OF FORTUNE. The Story of a Far North Land. " A capital book ; written with this popular writer's accustomed spirit, and to be enjoyed." — Scotsman. TWO SAILOR LADS. Their Stirring Adventures on Sea and Land. "A sea story, big with wonders." — Saturday Review. "A capital story in Dr. Stables' best slyteS'—S/ectator. FOR ENGLAND, HOME, AND BEAUTY. A Tale of Battle and the Breeze.

Chapter I The Making Of

A HERO HAT'S that, Henry ? " " Why, a starling's nest, to be sure. Don't you see, just under that bit of old water-pipe, there's something sticking up ? The bird flew out, I'm certain." " i" can't see anything. I don't believe there's any nest. Besides, we can't stop now if there was, we'd be late for school, and if we did nobody could swarm up there." " I didn't say I was going to stop now," was the measured reply. " But there is a nest there, Fred, and I'm going to have one of the eggs. I haven't got a starling's egg, and if the starling got up there I guess I can." Fred Douglas did not look at all convinced. He very justly concluded that an active starling with the use of its wings might probably haunt a good many spots quite beyond the reach of a small boy, and he said so ; and he repeated that there wasn't any nest there, and that the eggs were all hatched, and that there was no possibility of climbing up to get them ; a rather confused and contradictory string of remarks.

Henry did not stop to dispute the matter. But he had made up his mind, and was not to be turned from his purpose. He was not a boy, however, to shirk his school duties, so with one more glance at the coveted nest he shook his pony's reins and cantered off by his companion's side. Henry Havelock's father had been a ship-builder in Sunder land, but he was now living in Kent, and Henry rode his pony into Dartford every day to school. Yenpleasant rides they were, and young eight-year-old Henry kept his eyes open on the way and saw a good many things other folks would have missed. He would need sharp wits, and a wise head, and a brave heart some day, and he was training them now for their work. That starling's nest was not forgotten, as the old lady starling could have told you. She would have laughed slyly over the story, perhaps, for she had the best of it in that little adventure.

Close to the old barn where her nest had been cunningly tucked in under the eaves grew a large tree, stretching one bough just underneath the starling's house. Henrv had noticed that bough. He was a boy whorfiVZ notice thing's, and saw a way out of a difficulty very often when other folks were saying " Can't." And of course on the first opportunity he swarmed up that tree. Creeping cautiously along the bough he was ge" quite near the nest, to the terrible anxiety of the poor mother, when there was a queer crack — then a split — and then snap — crash — and bough and boy came helter-skelter to the ground ! It was an ugly tumble ; there were certain rents in the jacket, and grazes, and bruises, and cuts on arms and legs, but nothing worse, and the discomfited hero picked himself up not much damaged, only greatly disgusted that the broken bough had deprived him of the one chance of reaching the coveted nest.

" Why, Henry, my boy, you an: in a pretty plight," ex claimed his father, whom he met a few minutes after. Henry related his adventure. " Well, you had a nice fright, I should think," was the reply. " Toppling down head over heels into the hedge." " I wasn't frightened a bit," returned the stout-hearted boy. " I was so busy thinking all the time how provoking it was not to get the nest, and I'd have gone up again if there'd been another bough to climb." Bumps and bruises were of small account, but Henry did not like to be beaten. He had to put up with a defeat some times, however, and make the best of it. Bumps and bruises are not always signs of defeat. One day Henry got a bump to be proud of. " What a little idiot that Charlie Ford is," exclaimed Fred Douglas to his companion one morning as they turned out into the playground.

" Look, there he is ; daren't say ' Bo ' to a goose — scared to death because Tom Wells is chucking conquerors at him." A little slim, pale boy stood with his back to the palings, vainly trying to protect himself from some smart blows from well-aimed horse chestnuts, which a hulking fellow twice his size was leisurely shying at him, having driven the poor child up into a corner from which it wras not easy to escape. Other boys were standing by, jeering. Henry Havelock glanced at the group and flushed angrily. " A little idiot, did you say ? " he burst out. "Well, if Charlie isn't very brave, Tom's a thousand times worse, great cowardly brute, tormenting that little chap," aud without stopping to measure his own size and strength, he sprang, to every one's astonishment, on the " cowardly brute," knocked all the " conquerors " out of his hands, and, with a sound cuff over the head, very nearly upset the hero himself, an exploit greeted with derisive cheers from the boys who had been themselves afraid to attack the bully.

In the commotion poor terrified Charlie made his escape, and Tom, enraged at finding a sudden end put to his manly sport, turned furiously upon Henry. " Take that, you young cub, for your impudence," he roared, doubling his fist and giving the courageous boy a savage blow on the eye. " I'll teach you to interfere with your betters. Come along and " But at this juncture one of the masters came in sight, and Tom had to check the shower of blows that would have descended on Charlie's defender, and before he dared make another attack the other boys got between him and his victim, and gave Henry a chance to escape. " Havelock, what is the matter with your eye ? " demanded his master, when Henry presented himself in class. " I would rather not say, sir," returned Henry calmly. " But I insist on your telling me," replied his master, "I will not have fighting in the playground.

What have you been doing ? " Still no answer. Henry was not going to tell tales of any one, not even of the brutal bully, Tom Wells. His master was annoyed and suspicious. " You tell me the truth at once, or you have a caning," he announced sternly. But still Henry was silent. The boys wondered — and admired. The master got crosser and more determined. Then came the caning. What did little Charlie think when he heard of it?— and Tom? * * * ■ * * * " Canting little hypocrite ! Psalm-singing Methody goody good ! Ha ! ha ! He's so good and pious he can't look at the likes of us ! " It was a dreadfully irritating sneer, but Havelock bit his lips, choked down the retort he would have liked to have given, and passed on. He could hear, too, his friend Fred joining in the laugh ; that hurt worst of all.

The scoffing voices died away down one of the corridors of the Charterhouse School, four figures passed quietly into one of the dormitories, and for a little while a quiet murmur of voices was heard now and again. The brave boy who would one day stand unmoved amid showers of bullets could already stand his ground against an attack even more appalling, the sneer, and the laugh, and the mocking jest, because he dared to kneel and pray with three companions to the God whom his mother had taught him to reverence. " Well, old Phlos, grinding away as usual ? " said Fred Douglas one evening when most of the boys had finished " prep.," and were dispersing rather riotously. " Do chuck up those fusty books, and come and air your brains. We're going to have a lark with some fireworks up on the leads by the second dormitory.

Old Raines is safe at supper, and Spy-glass Jenkins is lecturing that unlucky Stebbings for shying the ink at the white cat. He'll get a jolly imposition to keep him quiet. Look sharp, now — the game's up if we don't bolt prompt." " Old Phlos," short for philosopher, was a nickname which stuck to Havelock in consequence of his steady application to his work, in spite of all attempts by coaxing, threats, and persecution to shirk it. He was a capital playmate, for he threw his whole heart into fun, as into everything else, and his companions missed him if absent; but no game was fascinating enough, or " lark " with a spice of peril in it sufficiently alluring to tempt him off when determined on a bit of hard study which he regarded as imperative duty. "I really can't, Douglas," he said good-humouredly.

" Now, just look here — there are all those Latin verses to finish, and that stiff bit of algebra to tackle, and this map to sketch and fid in if I'm to have the ghost of a chance in the exams., and there are only three weeks left now to work. I shall get stuck low down in this form all next term if I don't pull up a bit ; and I want to get up fifth, and be working for the sixth form." " Oh, bother all the exams. ! " returned Douglas, impatiently ; " I'm not going to worry myself into fiddle-strings over them. Why can't you stop where you are and be con tent ? I'm sure it's good enough for me. I tell you, it's awful hard fag up any higher." "Yes, I know it is," returned Havelock coolly. "Most things that are much good arc awful hard fag, unfortunately ; but I'm not going to stop down here for all that.

What about your French translation for to-morrow ? Was it as bad as you thought ? " " Gracious ! yes — and a lot worse. I've made a mess of it, I know, but it's done. Old Daub will wax furious, I dare say, and make faces at me, and scold and chatter in shocking bad English — much worse than my French — and then it'll all blow over. One lives through these breezes, old Phlos, if one takes things easily." Havelock thought it would be much better not to raise the breezes, but he said nothing ; and Douglas, impatient to be off, wished him good luck over his "grind," and raced away whistling, having whispered the caution that if a slow match squib should be put under old Daub's door, and a little pleasant, lively excitement follow, he, of course, would not know a word about it. Havelock could not be cross with his idle, fun-lovin^ com panion, but he did not at all wish to change places with him in the approaching exams., and hetwas, fortunately, not weak enough to be tempted into the same easy-going, slipshod style of work.

He set to work, therefore, once more, and after a good hour's steady application mastered the difficulties of the algebra, and was just turning to the study of the map of India — a country so deeply to interest him in after years — when a gruff voice called him off from his work. " Come along, you young shaver ! " demanded a big lad, putting his head in at the door at the other end of the long, bare school-room. " What do you mean by not looking after those birds' eggs of mine ? I told you to look up all the missing names and write them out fresh, and put sawdust in the drawers. And I've just made a beastly mess in my rooms with my chemicals. Look alive, and come and clear it up ! " " I'm coming," returned Havelock, a little reluctantly. With a sigh he got up, and collecting his books, in which now he was thoroughly interested, he put them all into his locker, for he well knew there was no more prospect of work that night.

He was " fag " to the owner of the birds' egcrs, and had to do numerous duties at his command, not always of the most agreeable nature, for " fagging " was then in full swing at the Charterhouse; this particular victim of the system, much as he abhorred it at the time, did not alto- TIIE MAKING OF A HERO 15 gether regret in later life the severe discipline it afforded him. It was a horrid job, clearing up those chemicals and scour ing out the mess on the table, and washing the tubes, and glasses, and retorts, and funnels, and his hands were stained and smelt abominably for days afterwards: doing the birds' eggs was not so bad, though he broke one in shifting the frail treasures, and got a tremendous box on the ear as a remembrance of the accident. But then the " fireworks lark " up-stairs, in which he had declined to join, did not have an altogether pleasant sequel.

Stebbings, who was enduring solitary confinement, and exe cuting (in the very worst of tempers) three hundred lines in bitter recollection of his ink exploit, very meanly " split " on the firework party ; so, just as the very best Catherine-wheel was in the zenith of its revolving glory, its fitful light flashed on the unexpected and unwelcome countenance of the head master himself, Dr. Raines. There was no shuffling out of it, they were all caught red-handed, and got pretty sternly reprimanded, too, for running the risk of setting the house on fire, besides being sent to bed with the cheerful assurance that a close attention to the pages of Cæsar during the hours of the next half-holiday was the chosen method of expiating their crimes. And that squib under " Daubie's " door gave them an agony of anxiety and suspense for hours.

If Dr. Raines did not walk straight into the French master's room after he had sentenced the culprits ! What if he should put his foot on the firework! But he did not, though their blood ran cold all the time he was there lest the wretched thing should go off. How they would rush in and snatch it away the instant he was gone ! But, to the boys' horror, the doctor walked out and turned the key ; and the porter told them afterwards that — "Mr. D'Ajubigny had been sent for to see somebody as was ill at home." And now that horrid firework would go off in the night, and, perhaps, really set the house on fire. Hadn't they better tell ? But nobody had the courage to say a word, though few slept much that night, and the "joke" really turned out a very unpleasant anxiety. Nothing happened, however.

The squib never went off at all : the match had gone out after burning a fairly big hole in the carpet. A month's pocket money all round sufficed to bribe the maid to turn the carpet, so that the hole went under the bed ; but even with that not very courageous or honourable expedient, the "lark" had certainly cost, on the whole, a good deal more than it was worth, and the unexpected consequences thereof served to keep it in unpleasant remembrance for some time to come. Havelock did not think that he had lost much ; the despised "grind" and "fag" had left him stronger and braver, aud better fitted for the splendid work before him. The longest term and the stiffest exams, come to an end at last, and no boy more eagerly welcomed the well-earned Christmas holidays than did Henry Havelock when he returned home at the close of the year 1809.

" How's Mother ? " was the first question on his lips as he found himself once more in the dear home circle. " Mother's but poorly now," replied his elder brother William, who was destined for the frmy, " we do miss her dreadfully. She has not read to us now in the evenings for weeks, and often she isn't down-stairs thc whole day." This was dispiriting news, for everybody knows how blank the house feels, and how flat everything falls, when "Mother," the life and the spirit of the party, is unable to be among her children. A little dreariness clouded the Christmas festivities that season, but with the dawning New Year things brightened, for Mother seemed better and could have her children with her. Havelock was now nearly fifteen and quite a hero in the eyes of his two younger brothers, Tom and Charles, and his sister Jane.

To keep the house quiet he tempted them to join in outdoor games, and snowballing and sliding grew very popular, while a huge snow man maintained his sub stantial position with grave dignity for some weeks, until a treacherous south wind undermined his constitution, and, together with the smiling sunbeams, brought on rapid decline. In spite of numerous stout plasters applied to his •ing frame, he finally ended his days in a little dirty mud-puddle just as the early snowdrops were swinging their white bells and the bold crocuses pushing up their golden shafts toward the sunshine. But the snow man was still standing in the garden to receive visitor, when a merry party assembled at Ingress Park on January 6th to celebrate Twelfth Night. '■ Guess what's going to happen to-night ? " said Henry, in a mysterious whisper to Tom that afternoon.

" Oh, a lot of jolly things," said Tom eagerly. " There's the Christmas tree, it's chokeful of things, not trumpery dolls' rubbish and crackers, but real stunning presents — tools, and paints, and a whopping cricket-ball. Then there's the conjuror, the fellow who came last year, who eats knives, and fireworks, and snakes, and carries his head under his arm and so on; and there's the snap-dragon, of course, to burn one's fingers. Has father got the yule-log ? " " Yes," said Henry7, " a monster, and it's to be dressed with mistletoe, and the baby donkey is to drag it into the hall to the fire. But there's something better than that going to happen." Tom's imagination, however, quite failed him. The cup of bliss for Twelfth Night seemed to him brimmin0 full. He looked at his brother in despair.

Henry added a sweet, unexpected drop that quite made it run over. " Mother's coming down," he said, " and she is going to give away7 the presents from the tree herself !" This was almost too much. To have Mother with them again, actually joining in their fun, would make it all ten times more delightful. Never, surely, was a happier, brighter scene of family merriment than on that January mght. But the very next morning the shadow fell again more deeply than before. It was Mrs. Have lock's frequent custom to read the Bible with her children, and Henry was reading aloud to her and little Jane after breakfast on the 7th, when suddenly the quiet listener interrupted him with a strange look on her face. " I am very ill. Henry : call your father." she said feebly. sinking down in her chair and falling forward, to her children's terrible alarm.

As well as he could, Henry raised his mother, and Jane ran to call for help, but it was some time before there was any sign of returning consciousness. " Oh 1 Mother dear, speak to me," pleaded poor Henry iu dire distress, for he could not be iuduced to leave her side. But theie was no answer. " It's a fit, sure and certain," whispered Cook to a fellow servant ominously. "The poor mistress won't never speak to us any more. She'll be gone afore night, mark my words. But Cook's words, whether "marked" or not, happily did not come true. After a while the doctor, who had to Iv summoned from a distance, arrived, and though he could not do much for his patient, who had been stricken with apoplexy, he gave some hope that she might partially recover. And, to Henry's great joy, his dear mother at last opened her eyes and evidently knew him.

But she could only speak with great difficulty. Henry always seemed to understand best what the feeble, whispered words might be. and he was never weary of attending upon her. It was so hard to say good-bye when, a month later, the time came to return to school. " God bless you, my darling, you have been a comfort," said Mrs. Havelock, as she kissed her boy for the last time. "I shall miss you sorely, and perhaps I shall not Iv here to sec you again " But Henry oould not bear to hear her speak like that. " M 'ther. you must, you u-ill get well soon. It won't be very long before I'm Kirk, and then you'll be up, and we'll have good times togethei again, Mother." The invalid did not contradict these hopeful words, and mother and son tried to cheer each other through that List parting. Bat wheu the boy was gone all the smiles died out of thi mother's face aud she never roused herself to any effort again.

Letting Hen ,t trial to hor in her weak state, and sho only lived a few weeks after Then Henry was sent for home. He obeyed the summons hastily with anxious and fearful heart. " Oh, Nurse, may I see her directly ? " he pleaded, as he reached the house. He was admitted to her room. She lay there so still, sleeping — yes, she would be better now. He bent down and softly kissed her. Poor lad ! Oh, why did not somebody tell you gently, tearfully, tenderly, that your sweet mother was gone home — that the quiet sleep would have no waking ! It was a cruel shock. Henry never forgot that dreadful moment when the blank truth smote him like a bewildering blow. Friends and comrades may die, and others fill their places, losses may come, and disappoint ments, and then gains and success make us forget all the trouble.

But a fellow has but one mother. " My boy will sit on the Woolsack some day." Well, mothers with their love, and their patience, and their hope, do and say wonderful things, but they are not always true prophets. Henry never got anywhere near the Woolsack though he started on the road. " The old place will have to go, Henry." " Oh, William, what do you mean ? Surely there's nothing bad the matter ! I know Father's been a little short of money, but I thought it would all come right." "It won't then," returned William Havelock bluntly. " Those speculations of Father's have turned out shockingly. In fact the money that was to bring in such a fortune has all ffone to the winds. Father didn't understand the whole thing at all ; you know people said so at the time, and now it's come to a regular smash-up."

" But what are we to do, then ? " inquired Henry blankly. He had left school about a year and had been using his time well in study, but he had not seriously considered the question of earning a livelihood. " Well, of course there'll be money left," was the reply, "only we shall have to turn out of here. Father's had a good offer for the Park from Government — £5Q,00Q — so it will be, sold ; he talks of going to Clifton." And it was after this removal to Clifton that Henry, who was now eighteen, set out for the Woolsack. It was a dry and dusty road, but difficulties of that kind were not at all likely to deter the "Phlos" of the Charterhouse from making his way, and Havelock was the pupil, too, of Chitty, a famous barrister, who would be likely to fit him well for his profession. But other and more serious difficulties arose.

He had only been plodding on for about a year through the driest and stiffest law-books when his father, being dis pleased with him for some cause or other, declared he would not pay his expenses as a pupil in the Middle Temple any longer and he must shift for himself. " I never did care much for being a lawyer," said the young student to his brother William one day, "only Mother seemed to wish it so, and she had such lofty ideas of my success that I couldn't say nay. But now it's ali knocked on the head. I wish I had your luck, old fellow, fighting the King's battles in Spain, and then coming in for a share of the laurels of Waterloo. I'd sooner be a soldier than anything ! " It was a time when England's soldiers were welcomed, and praised and feted as the deliverers of Europe, for the great, oppressor, Napoleon I., had just received his fatal and final defeat on the field of Waterloo.

Through the earlier years of the century the name of Buouaparte had been uttered with bated breath as beinsr that of a terror which buns over all the nations ; having humiliated Prussia to the dust the conqueror threatened with a very real peril the safety and freedom of our own little island. The Volunteers had sprung into existence as a response to this menace to our hearths and homes, and our south-eastern shores were speedily dotted with Martello towers as a defence against the invader, while impatient nurses would often stifle the cries of refractory children with the threat, " Bony is coming and will have you ! " This threat was not a meaningless one, for it is evident that Napoleon had, at one time, some serious idea of invading England. Thousands of veteran troops were collected on the shore at Boulogne, and flat-bottomed boats prepared to transport them across the Channel, and if in calm weather this force had been able suddenly to land on the coast of Kent, it might have been an awkward predicament for England.

Naturally enough, therefore, the soldier's profession was a very popular one, especially when Waterloo heroes returned and carried everywhere tales of that hard-won and glorious field where the liberties of Europe were vindicated. William Havelock, of course, had his story to tell of his share in the fight, and every word of it inflamed his younger brother's ardour for the profession of arms ; but ardour was not of very much use without influence. Who was to get him a commission ? It was a very uncomfortable thing being without any occupation ; and yet, while one door had been hopelessly closed, no other, at first, seemed likely to open. Help came, however, from an unexpected quarter. " You say you'd sooner be a soldier than anything ? " said William thoughtfully. " Well now, look here, I think I may be able to do something for you.