It was while at Dover that one of those sad bereavements befel my dear wife and myself which leave their after-impress upon memory and affection. The taste for sea life had been early developed in my second son. As far as possible it was discouraged, but that having failed, he was permitted to carry his wishes into effect. Alas! alas! the result was very grievous. The ship in which he was proceeding was ultimately “declared missing” at Lloyd’s; the dear, affectionate boy was never heard of. It is too painful to write even this brief notice.
A short visit by M. Henry Dunant gave me the opportunity of hearing from his own lips the story of the Red Cross convention, of which he has the distinction of being Founder. To his experiences gained among the thousands of wounded left on the field in and near Solferino without necessary help from the Austrians or Allies between whom that most sanguinary battle was fought,[322] and afterwards in extemporized ambulances for reception of those for whom provision could be made, M. Dunant assigned his resolve to institute, if possible, an Association whereby to mitigate in some measure at least the horrors of war such as he then witnessed. Of medical officers and their work as seen by him on that occasion he expressed himself in this way: “Certes, si tuer les hommes est un titre de gloire, les guerir, et cela, souvent au peril de sa vie, mérite bien l’estime et la reconnaissance.” But in numbers they were altogether insufficient for the task required of them, supplemented as they soon were by volunteers, not only from the countries immediately concerned, but from others, including Belgium, Switzerland, and even Canada. Bearing these matters in mind, he asked himself the question, “Is it not possible to found through all the nations of Europe societies the object of which shall be aid to the wounded in times of war; that care the most prompt possible, not by mere mercenaries, but by persons devoted by high principles to so high a vocation.” His appeal, formulated in a most touching narrative[323] of what he had seen in Lombardy, produced the effect desired by him; the subject he had at heart was earnestly taken up by all classes of persons, from crowned heads to peasants, and soon he had the reward of seeing organizations according to his own model in active operation. It was while he was occupied in observing the working of volunteer ambulances in Paris that I had the pleasure of being introduced to M. Dunant.
At long last came the “gazette” of my promotion, and almost simultaneously an order to take up at Aldershot the duties pertaining to my new rank.[324] The chief event during my short stay at that important military camp was the annual review and exercise of the troops composing it. For some time previous the old system of regimental hospitals and medical officers was in gradual process of abolition, and now that destructive policy had been so far matured as to be experimentally acted upon in the present manœuvres. My own duty was limited to carrying into execution orders received. But sympathies were altogether on the side of soldiers and their officers, who raised their voices against it. By what was now called the system of unification the fact became unpleasantly apparent that thenceforward the sick soldier, together with his wife and child, must depend in times of illness upon the aid of strangers, instead of, as heretofore, obtaining the help of those who personally knew them, and whose self-interest, even in the absence of higher motive, enhanced the care and attention shown towards them.
CHAPTER XXXV
1874–1875. BURMAH
Ordered to India—Bombay—Malabar coast—Madras—Intended expeditions—Rangoon—Shoay Dagon—Delhi Royal family—A coming race—Up the Irawaddy—Donabew—Hansadah—Akouk-tong—Prome—Thyet Myo—History—Petroleum wells—Great forest—Our progress—Mengee Sekan—Night shelters—Wandering Karens—Tonghoo—“Complication” with the King—The Sitang River—Boats and crews—Shoay Gheen—Sitang town—Its associations—Kadouk-Kyatsoo creek—Back to Rangoon—Comments.
Suddenly, and without note of warning, the contents of one of those long blue War Office envelopes informed me that in consequence of a death vacancy in India, I was to proceed without delay to Madras. The immediate result was a good deal of inconvenience and expense, arrangements having been made for a somewhat longer stay in camp than under the circumstances was now possible.
Leaving Portsmouth by the Indian troopship Euphrates early in September, in due time, and without adventure, we[325] landed at Bombay. Arrived at the capital city of the Western Presidency, the hospitality of one of India’s merchant princes[326] was extended to us, a letter of introduction[327] having preceded us. It so happened that an unusually heavy rainstorm had passed over that part of India a few days previous, causing complete destruction of railways, besides much damage in other respects. Our departure was accordingly delayed several days, it being necessary that we should proceed by steamer towards our destination. Meanwhile, however, the kind civility of our host was unrelaxed; short trips were organized by him for our pleasure—one to the famous Caves of Elephanta on the island of Gharipuri, the sculptures in which represent nearly, if not all, the mythology of Hindooism.
The first month of the “cold” season was well advanced, the cold being rather in name than reality. Otherwise our sea trip along the coast of Malabar was pleasant enough; the bold scenery of the western ghats in some places striking, in others grand; the cities, towns, and natural harbours, at several of which our ship made a brief stay to land and take on board goods and passengers, became so many objects of interest to us and a few others, who, like ourselves, had been also forced to adopt this mode of travelling.