of that open lot through twenty-one days and nights of hunger, thirst, Indian heat, and a never-ceasing storm of bullets, bombs, and cannon-balls—­a defense conducted, not by the aged and infirm general, but by a young officer named Moore—­is one of the most heroic episodes in history.  When at last the Nana found it impossible to conquer these starving men and women with powder and ball, he resorted to treachery, and that succeeded.  He agreed to supply them with food and send them to Allahabad in boats.  Their mud wall and their barracks were in ruins, their provisions were at the point of exhaustion, they had done all that the brave could do, they had conquered an honorable compromise,—­their forces had been fearfully reduced by casualties and by disease, they were not able to continue the contest longer.  They came forth helpless but suspecting no treachery, the Nana’s host closed around them, and at a signal from a trumpet the massacre began.  About two hundred women and children were spared—­for the present—­but all the men except three or four were killed.  Among the incidents of the massacre quoted by Sir G. O. Trevelyan, is this: 

“When, after the lapse of some twenty minutes, the dead began to outnumber the living;—­when the fire slackened, as the marks grew few and far between; then the troopers who had been drawn up to the right of the temple plunged into the river, sabre between teeth, and pistol in hand.  Thereupon two half-caste Christian women, the wives of musicians in the band of the Fifty-sixth, witnessed a scene which should not be related at second-hand.  ’In the boat where I was to have gone,’ says Mrs. Bradshaw, confirmed throughout by Mrs. Betts, ’was the school-mistress and twenty-two misses.  General Wheeler came last in a palkee.  They carried him into the water near the boat.  I stood close by.  He said, ’Carry me a little further towards the boat.’  But a trooper said, ‘No, get out here.’  As the General got out of the palkee, head-foremost, the trooper gave him a cut with his sword into the neck, and he fell into the water.  My son was killed near him.  I saw it; alas! alas!  Some were stabbed with bayonets; others cut down.  Little infants were torn in pieces.  We saw it; we did; and tell you only what we saw.  Other children were stabbed and thrown into the river.  The schoolgirls were burnt to death.  I saw their clothes and hair catch fire.  In the water, a few paces off, by the next boat, we saw the youngest daughter of Colonel Williams.  A sepoy was going to kill her with his bayonet.  She said, ‘My father was always kind to sepoys.’  He turned away, and just then a villager struck her on the head with a club, and she fell into the water.  These people likewise saw good Mr. Moncrieff, the clergyman, take a book from his pocket that he never had leisure to open, and heard him commence a prayer for mercy which he was not permitted to conclude.  Another deponent observed an European making for