My three years in Manipur

by Ethel St. Clair Grimwood

Some of the men were terribly wounded, but poor Mr. Brackenbury was by far the worst. His legs and arms were all broken, and he had several other injuries besides. It seemed a marvel that he was still alive and fully conscious to all that was going on around him. The doctor attended to him first of all, and had bound up his broken limbs, and done as much as possible to alleviate his sufferings; but it was a terrible sight to see the poor lad in such agony, and be so powerless to lessen it in any way. He was very thirsty, and drank a good deal of soup and milk, but we could not get him into a comfortable position. One minute he would lie down, and the next beg to be lifted up; and every now and then his ankle would commence bleeding, and cause him agony to have it bound up afresh. His face was gray and drawn, and damp dews collected on his forehead from the great pain he was suffering.

That scene will never be forgotten—the little cellar with a low roof, and the faces of the wounded lying together on the floor. We did not dare have a bright light for fear of attracting attention to that particular spot, and the doctor did his work with one dim lantern. Such work as it was, too! Every now and then he asked me to go outside for a few moments while the dead were removed to give a little more space for the living.

There were some terrible sights in the cellar that night—I pray I may never see any more like them; but being able to help the doctor was a great blessing to me, as it occupied my attention, and gave me no time to think of all the terrible events of the day, and the wreck of our pretty home. I was very weary, too—in fact, we all were—and when at about half-past ten I asked everybody to come and get some sort of a dinner, they seemed much more inclined to go to sleep, and no one ate much.

The dinner was not inviting, but it was the best that could be got under the circumstances, for I had had to do it all myself. One or two of the servants still remained, but they cowered down in corners of the house, and refused to move out or help me at all. Perhaps had we known that it was our last meal for nearly forty-eight hours, we should have taken care to make the most of it; but no thought of what was coming entered our minds, and long before the melancholy meal was ended most of the officers were dozing, and I felt as though I could sleep for a week without waking.

We all separated after dinner about the house. I went back to the hospital for a little, and found the doctor wanted more milk, so I returned to the dining-room, where I was joined by Captain Boileau, and we sat there for some time mixing the condensed milk with water, and filling bottles with it, which I took downstairs. It was quieter there than it had been. The wounded had all been attended to, and most of them had fallen asleep. Even Mr. Brackenbury was dozing, and seemed a little easier, and only one man was crying out and moaning, and he was mortally wounded in the head. So finding I could do no more there, I went upstairs again, resolving, if possible, to go to my room and lie down for a little while and sleep, for I was very tired.

I went sorrowfully through our once pretty drawing-room, where everything was now in the wildest confusion, and saw all the destruction which had overtaken my most cherished possessions. There are those who imagine that in a case like this a woman’s resource would be tears; but I felt I could not weep then. I was overwhelmed at the terrible fate which had come upon us, and too stunned to realize and bewail our misfortunes.

Perhaps the great weariness which overcame me may have helped me to look passively on my surroundings, and I walked through the house as one in a dream, longing only to get to some haven of rest, where I could forget the misery of it all in sleep.

I wended my way to the bedroom through a small office of my husband’s, but when I reached the door I found it would not open, and discovered that part of the roof had fallen in, caused by the bursting of a shell. So I gave up the idea of seeking rest there, and retired to the veranda.

I went down the steps and stood outside in the moonlight for a few minutes. It was a lovely night, clear and bright as day! One could scarcely imagine a more peaceful scene. The house had been greatly damaged, but that was not apparent in the moonlight, and the front had escaped the shells which had gone through the roof and burst all round at the back. The roses and heliotrope smelt heavy in the night air, and a cricket or two chirped merrily as usual in the creepers on the walls.

I thought of the night before, and of how my husband and I had walked together up and down in the moonlight, talking of what the day was to bring, and how little he had thought of such a terrible ending; and I remembered that poor lad lying wounded in the cellar below now, who only twenty-four hours ago had been the life and soul of the party, singing comic songs with his banjo, and looking forward eagerly to the chances of fighting that might be his when the morning came.