Tales of terror
and fired the train.
There was an awful pause. The minarets and domes of the wonderful city
glittered in the sunlight, and the face of heaven was without a cloud.
Nature was peaceful and at rest; but men were striving to tear their
fellow men to pieces, and there was a Babel of fierce, discordant
cries. The walls of the fort were black with hundreds of soldiers and
civilians who were struggling with each other as to who should be
first to cut down the Englishmen. Between the sweltering crowds on the
walls and the thousands below the scaling ladders formed a connecting
link, and they were black, too, with the writhing masses of men trying
to work their way up. Beyond the closely-wedged crowd that extended
from the walls outwards for something like fifty yards was a fringe of
rabble; the scouring of the gaols and the contributions of the places
of infamy with which the city abounded. And in this fringe was a large
percentage of women and young people of both sexes; though there wasn’t
one there but was athirst for the Feringhees’ blood. And when it was
seen that the rebel Sepoys had gained the summit of the surrounding
walls of the fort there arose from thousands of lips an exultant roar,
for it seemed that the Englishmen were at last in the power of the mob.
But suddenly that roar ceased with a quick and paralysing accession of
fear that struck the human mass dumb, for something had happened--a
convulsion of nature, as it seemed. The sun was darkened; the firm
earth rocked, and shook, and rose and fell, and concurrent with these
things was a compact, sullen, solid boom, that expanded and stretched
out as it were until it became a mighty and stupendous volume of sound.
Where a few seconds before the walls had stood black with hundreds
of fierce men on murder intent was a heap of ruins; and all around
not hundreds but thousands of human beings were hurled to the ground
maimed, shattered, and slain. And of those who had presence of mind to
turn and flee, some were overtaken and stricken senseless with flying
masonry, masses of iron, or baulks of timbers; while others fell dead
from fright, and others again went raving mad; and some rushed to the
river and threw themselves in, desperate with despair, for it seemed
as if their own god Shiva had turned upon his votaries and was bent
on wiping them off the face of the earth. The effects of this great
explosion were remarkable. The whole city was shaken. Ponderous houses
reeled and tottered, and buildings miles away were rent and split.
Every tree within a radius of a couple of hundred yards was blasted and
withered. Huge masses of masonry were hurled high into the air. Heavy
guns were tossed away as if they had been toys caught by a strong wind.
The six-feet walls of solid masonry were shattered to crumbling ruins,
burying many hundreds of natives, while hundreds more were blown up
into the air like wisps of straw. The destruction of the war material
was complete. Not a pound of powder, not a shell, not a gun, remained
for the natives to use against the white men. To that fact probably we
owe our ultimate success over the rebels. For if all that ammunition
and all those guns had fallen into the hands of the mutineers at that
moment, there is no telling what they might have accomplished.
Willoughby had indeed nobly done his duty. To their disgrace, however,
be it said, there were those at home--the fireside politicians, the
little Englander and carpet-slipper travellers--who censured him for
the act. But Englishmen at heart admire courage and devotion to duty.
Generations yet unborn, when they read the pathetic story of Shelton
and Blanche Merton, will draw a sigh of pity, while around the memory
of Lieutenant George Willoughby will ever shine a halo of glory, and
Englishmen will refer to him with a sense of swelling pride as the Hero
of Delhi, who with fire and death helped to save India.
NOTE.--Curiously enough Willoughby and a comrade, Lieutenant Forrest,
escaped from the fiery blast that scattered such ruin and death around.
Willoughby, however, was much burnt, and Forrest was severely wounded,
having been shot in the arm. The brave Scully who fired the train
must have been blown to atoms. It was estimated that 2,000 mutineers
at least were killed by the explosion, and as many perhaps had been
previously shot down by grape and canister which the heroic little
garrison poured forth with such deadly effect.
IX
THE SPECTRE OF RISLIP ABBEY
[The particulars of this story have been supplied by a well-known
member of Parliament from his own experience. The story is told
almost in his own words. He is the owner of a broad and fair estate
in central England, and has gained an enviable reputation for his
high intelligence, his administrative ability--which on more than one
occasion has been of great advantage to his party--as well as for his
princely hospitality.]
Up to about twenty years ago I was a comparatively poor man, and had
to supplement my income by literary work, which, being of a scientific
character, had not a very wide market. However, at that time, I
succeeded to a snug patrimony, which freed my mind at once from all
anxiety about the future. I had been married for seventeen years, and
had two daughters, Cynthia and Phyllis, aged thirteen and fifteen
respectively. My wife was an invalid, and our medical attendant had
frequently told me that her restoration to health depended to a large
extent on her living in the country, and indulging in country pursuits.
But want of adequate means had prevented our giving effect to this
advice, for circumstances rendered it important that I should reside
in London, and my wife resolutely refused to leave me. Consequently,
we had been living in a modest flat, and made the best we could of its
inconveniences and drawbacks.
It was not surprising, therefore, that one of my first cares as soon as
I was in possession of my fortune was to seek for some suitable country
residence. We were all fond of the country, and my tastes inclined to
the life of a gentleman farmer. I therefore called one morning on my
friend, the late Mr. George R----, the well-known West-End auctioneer
and estate agent. He had a connection all over Great Britain, and I
knew that if anyone could find me the place I wanted he could. After
we had chatted for some time, and I had made known my requirements, he
began to discuss the pros and cons of several estates he had on his
books, but against all there was some objection to urge as far as I was
concerned, until at last he exclaimed with a chuckle:
‘By Jove, I have it. Rislip Abbey, that’s the place for you.’ Then,
calling his head clerk, he desired him to bring the printed particulars
of Rislip, which were read out as follows:--
‘Rislip.--Containing about three thousand acres arable land, five
hundred acres pasture, one thousand timber (mostly oak and beech), the
rest park and ornamental grounds. The house is a quaint, old-fashioned,
turreted mansion, believed to have been built about the end of the
reign of Henry VIII. The place is without any historical interest. Most
of the land lies well. The house stands high, and commands splendid
views, but is in a dilapidated condition, not having had a tenant for
the last thirty years. The property has been the subject of litigation,
but the rightful ownership has now been determined.’
The foregoing were the crude particulars, so to speak, in outline, and
having listened to them I questioned my friend further, and asked him
if he had personally surveyed the property.
‘I have,’ he answered.
‘And what is your opinion about it?’
‘Well, at present it is a wilderness, and the house is well nigh a
ruin. Chancery, as you know, is like a blight and a curse--it ruins
every property it has anything to do with, as well as breaks the hearts
of men and women. Of course, the lawyers have done well while Rislip
has been going to decay, and now the owners are too poor to spend
any money on it, nor can they sell any portion of it for the next
twenty-five years. But they would grant you a lease for that period for
a merely nominal rent, and give you the option of purchase. It would
want a good deal of money laid out on it in the first instance, but my
opinion is you could soon bring the land under cultivation, and make
it profitable. Anyway, go down and see the property. I’ll go with you,
if you like. You will soon see if it is likely to suit you, and, of
course, you can get the ghost and all thrown in.’
‘Ghost!’ I exclaimed, with a laugh.
‘Oh, yes. I understand there is a real, genuine ghost, according to
local tradition. The yokels swear that the place is haunted. But I
should say the only spirits you will find there are bats and owls.’
I laughed at the ghost idea. I was pleased to think myself a
hard-headed man, and my disposition was to view most things from
a severely critical and scientific point of view; while as for
spiritualism, I had nothing but contempt for those who professed to
believe in it.
Now, the result of my interview with my friend the auctioneer was that
a week later we journeyed down to Rislip together, and spent three or
four days in examining the estate. It was certainly not an exaggeration
to call it a wilderness, while the house itself was crumbling to decay;
but I saw at once the potentialities of the place, and as the situation
of the house would have been hard to beat, while the rental asked was
little more than nominal, I secured the refusal of the property for a
fortnight. During that time I consulted my lawyers, took my wife and
daughter down to Rislip, and as they confessed themselves charmed, and
I found I could secure it almost on my own terms, I lost no time in
closing, and at once proceeded to get estimates for putting the house
in habitable condition.
As may be imagined, I was very busy for the next three months, and
by means of a liberal expenditure and ample labour, a very different
aspect was imparted to the erstwhile wilderness, and the house was
ready for occupation by the early part of November. Though the prospect
of moving at such a period wasn’t very pleasant, we faced it boldly,
and by the end of the month were comfortably installed in our new
quarters. In carrying out the repairs and alterations in the house
I had been careful not to interfere in any way with its structural
arrangements, as its quaintness and rambling character appealed very
forcibly to my antiquarian instincts. One of the features of the house
was most certainly the dining-room. It was a room of really noble
proportions, unusually lofty for a building of that date, with three
straight windows on one side, and at one end a very deep bay, from
which there was a view second to none in the country.
The floor, which had been laid with oak, was as level as a billiard
table, and in a perfect state of preservation. The walls were all
wainscoted from floor to ceiling, and as some of this had decayed, it
had been found necessary to restore it during the process of renovating
the house. In the course of this work the men discovered a sliding
door so artfully let in as a panel that anyone unacquainted with its
existence would never have found it out. Behind the sliding panel was
a narrow passage, leading to a flight of stone steps that descended to
a second passage, closed by a door. This door gave access to a short
tunnel that had its exit in the grounds, near a lake of considerable
dimensions.
Romantic no doubt as all this may seem, there was really nothing very
remarkable in it, as very few country houses were built in Henry
VIII.’s time, and, indeed, for long after his reign, without a secret
passage, the object being to afford the occupants a means of escape in