Meanwhile shells were doing dreadful damage over our heads, and we were afraid they might set fire to the thatch and force us out of our temporary shelter. Luckily most of them went over the house into the garden at the back, where they could not do such serious damage; but the noise the guns made, added to the other firing, which had never ceased, was deafening.
There was not the slightest doubt by this time that our position was about as bad as it could very well be. I seemed paralyzed with fear, and it was only by forcing myself to do something, and never thinking or imagining for one moment what the end of it all might be, that I kept my senses sufficiently to be able to make an effort to help the rest. I heard that the wounded were to be brought up to the house immediately, as the hospital was getting too hot for them to remain in it. Poor fellows! they had endured so much as it was in getting there, that it seemed very hard to be obliged to move them again so soon, and take them up to the Residency.
There were a good many of us in the cellar by this time—Mr. Quinton, Colonel Skene, my husband and myself, Mr. Cossins, and Mr. Gurdon. It was about seven o’clock, and a lovely evening. The sun was just setting, and the red glow of the sky seemed to illuminate the landscape around and the faces of the colonel and my husband as they stood in the doorway talking together in low tones. It was no difficult matter to read what was written on both their faces, and I did not dare ask what was going to happen.
At last my husband came and told me that we were to leave the Residency, and try and find our way to Cachar. It seemed worse to me to think of going out of the house than to remain there; but whatever was to take place had to be at once, and there was no time to spend in giving way to the terrible fear which possessed me. However, a further consultation was held, and it was decided to make a truce with the regent, and put an end to hostilities by coming to some terms with him. A letter was written, which the Chief Commissioner signed. It ran as follows:
‘On what condition will you cease firing on us, and give us time to communicate with the Viceroy, and repair the telegraph?’
While this letter was being written, the colonel had ordered our buglers to sound the ‘cease fire,’ which they did at once; but it was some time before the Manipuris followed suit. At last their guns ceased, and all was quiet. Then my husband went out with the letter, and called a Manipuri off the wall to take it to the Jubraj. The man went away with it, and my husband returned to the Residency.
FRANK ST. CLAIR GRIMWOOD.
FROM A PHOTOGRAPH BY VANDYK.
LONDON: RICHARD BENTLEY & SON, 1891