a drain like a scared water-rat, when some boatmen, armed with cudgels, cut off his retreat, and beat him down dead into the mud.”

The women and children who had been reserved from the massacre were imprisoned during a fortnight in a small building, one story high—­a cramped place, a slightly modified Black Hole of Calcutta.  They were waiting in suspense; there was none who could foretaste their fate.  Meantime the news of the massacre had traveled far and an army of rescuers with Havelock at its head was on its way—­at least an army which hoped to be rescuers.  It was crossing the country by forced marches, and strewing its way with its own dead men struck down by cholera, and by a heat which reached 135 deg.  It was in a vengeful fury, and it stopped for nothing neither heat, nor fatigue, nor disease, nor human opposition.  It tore its impetuous way through hostile forces, winning victory after victory, but still striding on and on, not halting to count results.  And at last, after this extraordinary march, it arrived before the walls of Cawnpore, met the Nana’s massed strength, delivered a crushing defeat, and entered.

But too late—­only a few hours too late.  For at the last moment the Nana had decided upon the massacre of the captive women and children, and had commissioned three Mohammedans and two Hindoos to do the work.  Sir G. O. Trevelyan says: 

“Thereupon the five men entered.  It was the short gloaming of Hindostan—­the hour when ladies take their evening drive.  She who had accosted the officer was standing in the doorway.  With her were the native doctor and two Hindoo menials.  That much of the business might be seen from the veranda, but all else was concealed amidst the interior gloom.  Shrieks and scuffing acquainted those without that the journeymen were earning their hire.  Survur Khan soon emerged with his sword broken off at the hilt.  He procured another from the Nana’s house, and a few minutes after appeared again on the same errand.  The third blade was of better temper; or perhaps the thick of the work was already over.  By the time darkness had closed in, the men came forth and locked up the house for the night.  Then the screams ceased, but the groans lasted till morning.

“The sun rose as usual.  When he had been up nearly three hours the five repaired to the scene of their labors over night.  They were attended by a few sweepers, who proceeded to transfer the contents of the house to a dry well situated behind some trees which grew hard by.  ‘The bodies,’ says one who was present throughout, ’were dragged out, most of them by the hair of the head.  Those who had clothing worth taking were stripped.  Some of the women were alive.  I cannot say how many; but three could speak.  They prayed for the sake of God that an end might be put to their sufferings.  I remarked one very stout woman, a half-caste, who was severely wounded