He selected a spot for this purpose about six miles down the river to the south-east, not far from the Sepoys’ huts, and about a mile from the banks of the river. He was guided in this choice, to a great extent, by the fact that on the spot were two long hospital barracks that would make good quarters for the people. One of the buildings was a substantial structure built wholly of masonry; but the other had a heavy thatched roof.
Here, again, the cruel hand of Fate seemed to be, for a time, against the English, for to the circumstance of the thatched roof some of the most awful suffering endured by the besieged was due, as will be hereafter shown. Both buildings were single-storied, and verandahs ran all round them; they stood in an open and perfectly flat compound. In the centre of the compound was a well, the only place from which supplies of water could be drawn; and as will be disclosed in the subsequent unfoldings of the story, this well was the scene of almost unparalleled heroic deeds.
Having selected his place, Sir Hugh began to entrench it, and supply it with a stock of provisions capable of feeding his people for several weeks.
The so-called fortifications were paltry in the extreme, for the means were not at hand to render them worthy the name. The earth-works were only four feet high, and were not even proof against bullets at the crest. The apertures for the artillery exposed both guns and gunners; whilst, on all sides, adjacent buildings offered splendid cover for the enemy. The excessive heat and dryness of the weather had rendered the ground so hard that it could only be turned with the greatest amount of difficulty, and by patient labour; and when it was dug it was so friable that the cohesion necessary for solidity could not be attained.
The month of May wore on; the expected mutiny did not occur. June came in, and Sir Hugh then felt confident that all danger had passed; and Lucknow being threatened, the General sent to the relief of the neighbouring station a portion of his own little company of soldiers.
As these white troops crossed the bridge of boats, and set their faces towards Lucknow, the natives fairly shook with suppressed laughter as they thought what fools the English were. And at this very time, Jewan Bukht and other agents of the Nana were visiting the bazaars and the native lines, and fanning the smouldering fire to flame.
Towards the latter end of May, there entered Cawnpore by the pontoon bridge, two strangers. It was the close of a more than usually sultry day, and the travellers, who were on foot, were dust-stained and worn.
These travellers were Lieutenant Harper and Haidee. They had come from Delhi—a long weary march; and along their line of route they had experienced the greatest difficulty in procuring necessary food and rest.
Nerved by the one all-powerful motive, Haidee had kept up, and exhibited extraordinary powers of endurance. When her companion sank exhausted from heat and thirst, this brave and beautiful woman watched over him, encouraged him, and gave him hope. Her gentle hand wiped his brow, her soft bosom pillowed his head. Her love for him grew stronger each day. To lie at his feet, to pillow his head, to watch him when he slept, was joy inexpressible to her. And yet during this journey she never by a single word betrayed aught of the strong passion which filled her heart; but every action, every deed proclaimed it.
On his part he tried to think of her only as one who had befriended him, and to whom it was his duty to offer such protection as lay in his power. But on the road from Delhi he proved the weaker vessel of the two, for the awful heat, aided by the want of proper rest and sustenance, sorely tired him. She, on the other hand, inured from birth to the heat, and strengthened by her great love for him, kept up when he faltered, and exhibited, comparatively speaking, but little weariness.