The hero, however, never got beyond Aden, where he was politely invited to retrace his steps. The “last phase” was as brief as it was lamentable. Settling in Paris he again married. Then poverty necessitated the sale of his jewels, sickness overtook him, and, broken in body and mind, he asked and received pardon for his many foolish acts.
After his escapades in Paris he is said to have written to the British Government, “Capivi,” evidently intending to reiterate the cypher telegram attributed to Sir Charles Napier, the conqueror of Scinde, “Peccavi” (a mot that will appeal to all classical readers). Thereupon he was forgiven, and shortly after he died, and so the race of the “Lion of the Punjaub” went out like a lamb.
What became of the second wife I never heard, what became of the Alhambra lass and the dusky tadpoles that drove about the King’s Road at Brighton history does not tell, for “Love is a queer thing, it comes and it goes,” and all that remains to the present generation is the nebulous tale of a misguided man who kicked down wealth, position, and a happy old age in the reckless pursuit of a silly ambition.
FIFTY YEARS AFTER.
I cannot permit this opportunity to pass without reminding every reader of the momentous issues that were for ever set at rest by the incredible heroism of our army during the Mutiny in September fifty years ago, and without encroaching on the beautiful story by W. H. Fitchett, within the reach of everybody for 4½d., one may legitimately ask why many incidents that then occurred have never been explained.
What is the true version of the “Stone Bridge” being left open at Lucknow?
Why is it invariably confused with the “Iron Bridge?”
What was the true reason of the Cawnpore reverse?
No history yet written has ever explained these points, which, however justifiable at the time, may surely, after fifty years, have light thrown upon them, and if Lord Roberts would give his version, many—including the old brigade—would have their curiosity set at rest.
And touching those glorious days, what return has a grateful (!) country made to the remnant that remains? An invitation to a levée and a sandwich and a photographed group afterwards! A 5th Class Victorian Order would have left nothing to be desired. For my part if I pass a drummer boy of the brave 93rd I feel an irresistible inclination to raise my hat in homage to a successor of those invincible Highlanders. And then the irony of it! MacBean, the adjutant who passed through those continuous hurricanes of shot and shell without a scratch, died of lock-jaw, when in command of the regiment some twenty years after, from cutting a corn.