The imprisoned women were too weak to move, and were shrunk almost to skeletons. With great tenderness they were removed to the house of a friend, where they were put to bed and nursed with care and affection. The daughter recovered soonest, and the unmarried woman was able to walk in a week or two; but Roccia’s wife, who had been in a more cramped position than the rest, was the last to regain the use of her limbs; and her eyes were ever afterwards affected with dimness, from being suddenly brought out of her prison into the light of day.
We give a description of their imprisonment from the lips of Roccia’s wife. When the dire calamity befell them, she was in the stable with her sister. They had gone there with some rye-flour gruel for one of the goats which, on the evening before, had brought forth two dead kids. Roccia’s daughter and a younger son were with the women, standing in a corner among the animals, waiting for the sound of the bell to go to church. In the stable were a donkey, six goats, and half-a-dozen fowls. Roccia’s wife was about to leave the stable to go to her own house. Scarcely had she reached the stable door, when she heard the warning voice of the minister. Looking up, she saw the descending avalanche, and heard a sound as of another at some little distance. She hurried back into the stable and told her sister and her children. In a few minutes the snow descended upon the building, crashing in the roof and part of the ceiling. To save themselves they got into the rack and manger, the latter being under the main posts of the building, and therefore able to bear the immense pressure. They occupied, however, a very uncomfortable posture, crouching against the wall in a space only a little more than a yard in breadth. They had escaped instant death, but the more painful and lingering death by famine seemed certainly to await them. They were oppressed with the thought of how they could subsist under such circumstances. The children did not lose heart; they said they had had breakfast, and could do very well until the next morning. The aunt had a few chestnuts in her pocket; and two each of these served for their supper, with snow-water as a beverage. In the bakehouse near the stable was the whole produce of yesterday’s baking. They made repeated attempts to force their way through the snow to the bakehouse, but all in vain. There was only one resource left, and that was the goat which had recently brought forth the two dead kids. This supply proved invaluable. On the second day they felt the pangs of hunger; they divided the remaining chestnuts among them, and also a quart of goat’s milk. The third day they made another effort to get to the bakehouse; but the weight of snow was too much for them, so they gave up all hopes of help from that direction. They were therefore shut up to the milk of the one goat.
To feed the goats was now one great object. Two of them were near the manger—the one already yielding milk; and the other, being with young, might be expected soon to do so, if they could only supply them with food. Over the manger where they lay was a hole into the hayloft; through this hole they pulled down the fodder into the rack; and when they could no longer reach it, the sagacious creatures climbed upon their shoulders and helped themselves.
At the end of the first week, the boy began to sink. He had complained of great pain in his stomach. His mother nursed him in her lap for a whole week, when he desired to lie his length in the manger. His hands and lips were cold, and his respiration feeble. His mother put a little milk to his lips, but he could not take it; and then with one tender cry, ‘O my father in the snow! O father, father!’ he expired.
Throughout the whole of their imprisonment they were in total darkness. For nearly three weeks the crowing of the cock enabled them to distinguish night from day; but at the end of this term chanticleer died, and his companions followed him one by one. They then literally took ‘no note of time.’ The donkey and the other goats were very restless for some time, but at length they fell a prey to hunger and exhaustion. The milk of the first goat gradually diminished; but the kidding of the second increased the supply, and as they killed the kid, though with great reluctance, the supply held out until the day of their deliverance. The poor goat became quite a solace to them, as it was so tame as to lick their hands and face. The poor creature was ever afterwards an object of great affection in the family.
We need only add one or two interesting facts. During their five weeks’ imprisonment they suffered little uneasiness from hunger after the first week. The effluvia from the dead animals were far more disagreeable, as also the vermin which infested the place, and the great coldness of the snow-water which trickled over them. The constrained position was also a source of great misery. During the whole of the time, Mrs Roccia had no sleep; but her daughter and her sister had intervals of repose equal to their nightly rest. Their deliverance was a matter of great thankfulness to all concerned; and many a winter’s evening was spent in relating around their humble hearth the sufferings, the mercies, and the deliverance of that eventful time.
A NIGHT IN AN INDIAN HILL-FORT.
Some short time ago, I being then an insignificant member of the Army Headquarters staff at Simla, the hill-capital of India, it became desirable to increase the number of hill-stations for the summer accommodation of British troops. It was thought that the Chor mountain, the most prominent peak of which is some sixty miles from Simla, would on its lower ridges afford suitable sites; and accordingly, a Committee of officers was formed for the purpose of reconnoitring and making a report. This Committee consisted of a well-known general, a major of Engineers, and myself, a humble sub. Somewhat trying work it was to get to the Chor, the road being of the most breakneck description, and the monsoon rains showing symptoms of bursting for our especial delectation. However, we trudged on manfully, climbed to the very topmost peak of the Chor, which by our aneroid we made over twelve thousand feet, and saw—nothing; for, by evil chance, one of the most magnificent views in Asia was barred to us by clouds which shut out everything except the first mile or two of the hog-backed ridges below us. Disappointed, we descended; and that night it was arranged we should separate and return to Simla by different routes, so as to make the President’s report as comprehensive as possible. In the execution of this idea, I found myself the next day at a place called Bhairogh, whence I proceeded—on foot, for we had been obliged to send our ponies back, owing to the state of the road—to a village called Tali. Here at first I thought of camping, as I had come some eleven miles up hill and down dale; but the place was so bare and I was so anxious to push on, being short of provisions, that I suddenly determined to double my march and make for a fort called Rajgarh, and described as being some twelve miles farther on. Unfortunately, I was dilatory in starting; the march, as usual, was longer than I had been led to suppose; the road was hilly, and it was not until about nine P.M. that I found myself peering through the darkness in the vicinity of my destined camp.
Camp, did I say? It was very soon evident that there was to be no camp for me that evening, and, what was still more objectionable, no supper. Slowly as I had walked, my servant with whom was all my money, and the coolies with my tent and kit, were miles behind. It was too late for such an unkempt ragamuffin as I undoubtedly was to disturb the garrison, so I shortly made up my mind to bivouac peacefully under a tree. Just outside the fort, however, and close to the spot I had marked out for my resting-place, two natives, by the light of a fire, were hammering some metal vessel with such animation as to wholly preclude the possibility of sleep. To these enthusiasts I explained that I was a sahib, and suggested they should postpone their operations till next morning. They, naturally enough perhaps, demurred; and I wrangled, and they continued their metallic fantasia until I could stand it no longer. Thinking, perhaps, I could persuade the local head-man to assist me in getting a night’s rest, I presented myself at the gate of the fort, a square walled inclosure of no strength, and demanded admittance. After much palavering with the sleepy sentry, I was let in past the outer wall, but not into the inner part; whereupon, I asked that the head-man should be sent for, and further clamoured for a chair. Seated upon this, and curiously scrutinised by a few promiscuous hill-folk, I waited for some five minutes, wondering why nobody came. At last a gate in the inner wall was thrown open, and out poured a procession, lit with torches, and headed by an evidently high-class native in flowing white robes. After the interchange of salaams, this individual, who subsequently turned out to be the tehsildar (administrator of a district), said to me with much humility: ‘Is your honour sent by the government to see if troops can be encamped on our hills?’
I admitted the soft impeachment; whereupon the tehsildar smiled benignly, and a succession of happy grunts and ‘It is hes,’ ran round the rest of the assembly, who had grouped themselves in an admiring circle round my chair.