His last journey was to Russia. At Cherson he received an urgent request to visit a lady who had the fever. The place where she lived was many miles off, and no good horses were to be obtained. But he was determined not to disappoint her; so he procured a dray horse and started for his destination on a wintry night, with rain falling in torrents. As a result of this journey he was stricken down by the fever, and died 20th January, 1790.
Howard was a very hard worker, and a man of most frugal habits. He was often up by two o'clock in the morning writing and doing business till seven, when he breakfasted. He ate no flesh food, and drank no wine or spirits. He had a great dislike to any fuss being made about him personally; and, though £1500 was subscribed during his life to erect a memorial, it was, at his earnest desire, either returned to the subscribers or spent in assisting poor debtors.
But after his death a memorial was put up in St. Paul's, and quite recently a monument has been erected at Bedford, where he first began his labours on behalf of the prisoners.
A HERO OF THE VICTORIA CROSS.
THE STORY OF KAVANAGH.
It was the time of the Indian Mutiny. Lucknow was in the hands of the rebels. Within the Residency Sir James Outram, Sir Henry Havelock, and their troops, were fast shut up, around them a vast multitude of mutineers. But now near at hand was Sir Colin Campbell with the army of relief.
It was difficult, nay, almost impossible, to get a trusty messenger through that multitude of fierce and bloodthirsty foes; and yet it was of the utmost importance that Sir Colin should have some one to tell him what was passing within the Residency, and show him the best route by which his troops could approach.
If any man tried to get through and failed, death—or perhaps worse still, horrible torture—was his certain fate. But there was one man who determined to do it, or die in the attempt. His name was Kavanagh. It was so dangerous a matter that when Sir James Outram heard of his proposal he declared he would not have asked one of his officers to attempt the passage. But in the end he accepted the offer, and Kavanagh prepared for the journey.
Dressing himself as a native soldier, and covering his face and hands with lampblack, he was so altered in appearance that even his friends failed to recognise him. Thus disguised, and accompanied by a native spy named Kunoujee Lal to guide him, he set out. The night, fortunately, was dark and favoured their design. The first thing they did was to ford the Goomtee, a river about a hundred yards wide, and four or five feet deep. Taking off their garments they waded across; but whilst in the water Kavanagh's courage reached a low ebb, and he wished himself back again. However, they got to the opposite bank in safety, and crouching up a ditch found a grove of trees, where they dressed.
Kavanagh's confidence had now returned, and he felt so sure of his disguise that he even exchanged a few words with a matchlock-man whom they met. After going on for about half a mile they reached the iron bridge over the river, and here they were challenged by a native officer. Kavanagh kept judiciously in the shade whilst the guide advanced and answered the questions put to him satisfactorily, and they were allowed to proceed. A little further they passed through a number of Sepoys, but these let them go by without inquiry. Having had the good fortune to get unperceived past a sentry who was closely questioning a native, they came into the principal street of Lucknow, jostling against the armed rebels, who would have killed them in a moment had their suspicion been aroused. But no mishap occurred, and after being challenged by a watchman they at last found themselves to their great relief out in the open country.