Leave the Cape.
There is very little emigration to the Cape, the reason is, capital is required. Labour is so cheap, no white man will engage in it for a living. Land can be purchased, worked to advantage, either in grain, or stock-farming, and this requires means. The principal export is merino wool. The native sheep are like goats, with hair. They have extraordinary large tails, all fat. I have seen a tail as large as the carcase.
In consequence of the loss of my wife and child by small-pox, brought to the Cape in a slaver captured on the west coast, and the defalcations of my partner in the hotel business, through which he absconded to Australia with one thousand pounds of our money, I was compelled to resign my business and return to England. A vessel on her way from Calcutta, putting in for water, I took passage, and bid good-bye to the Cape. The voyage was a rough one, we encountered many storms, arriving safe at the East India Docks on 24th March, 1855, after a voyage of ten weeks. I immediately left for Buckinghamshire, where my family had removed during my absence, and found, to my great sorrow, my poor mother had been dead just two months, her last words were: "Oh, that I could but see my dear son before I am called away." My father, feeling this affliction deeply, having lived together some forty-six years, soon followed her, and I had had that consolation of being present when he died, and laid him beside my dear angel mother. After arranging some family matters at our old home, I left for London, expecting to get a commission in the Turkish contingent, from Lord Panmure. While waiting for this, peace was proclaimed, and the troops ordered home from the Crimea. Notwithstanding all the excitement caused by that war, my services were not forgotten, though, perhaps, in the eyes of some, the famous charge of the Six Hundred, had eclipsed Aliwal and Sobraon, still I had a good friend in the Marquis of Chandos, who gave me the appointment of station-master on the London and North-Western Railway below Rugby, where I remained till 1859.
Railway catastrophy.
In the month of November, 1859, a serious accident occurred on my section of this road, which might have been more serious for me, as I was only recently appointed, had I not used the caution on the moment I did, showing my training as a soldier was useful even on a railroad. About three in the afternoon, the Midland Express, twenty minutes overdue, a mineral train came along. I cautioned the driver to get clear as quickly as possible, which he did, till about three hundred yards from the station he broke down. I immediately telegraphed "line blocked." Soon the Express, late, came in sight, thundering along under two engines—twelve carriages and two guard vans. Trying all means, I could not stop it, danger signal was up, waved red flag, still on she came at a rate of seventy miles an hour. As they passed me, still waving and shouting, they screwed down to twenty miles; but on she went into the mineral train, smashing the engine and telescoping the carriages. Fortunately a down train for Aylesbury had just passed the freight train, or it would have been much worse. As it was, I felt much worse than ever I did when charging up to the mouth of a big gun at Magarajpoor, or charging square of Sikhs, at Aliwal. There were many of the passengers wounded, one, a lady's maid, was killed. The wounded were removed to a gentleman's residence near by. Lord and Lady Byron were slightly injured. The Board of Directors of course had an investigation to which I was summoned, but completely exonerated from all blame, as it was proved the station-master below me had neglected his duty, in not seeing my telegraph "line blocked." I received great praise from the London papers, and was promoted by the Board to a more responsible and lucrative post. Still I never could feel happy on my post. My wife—having married again—constantly fretted for fear of a repetition, and as it was a worry to my mind, I resigned as I have before stated, in 1859.
I then went to Liverpool to fill an appointment as Drill Instructor to the Exchange corps of Volunteers, under Captain Bright, and in that city I remained, until the opening of the Great Exhibition, in 1862, when I got an appointment in the first great world's show. When it closed I went to Hampstead, where I was college drill-master until 1869, when I left for Brighton, my birthplace, as superintendent of the Grand Hotel. So many early associations connected with this place, and as I had lost all my relatives nearly, I made up my mind to remove to America along with an old friend of mine, who determined, like me, to anchor at last in the New World.
Farewell address.
Having now reached the point of the story of my life when I must bid farewell to my reader, I feel refreshed—life renewed almost in having gone over the history of my early connection with the army, and the subsequent perils, combats, and adventures in which I was engaged. I can scarcely credit, on looking back, that all such has occurred, and that I am the same who, so many years ago, toiled under great disadvantages through the hot sands of India, parched with thirst, and ill-provided with food fit for such a climate. I sometimes think if it is possible, or is a long-past dream—the charges on Sikh squares at Aliwal and Sobraon, the storming of huge works, the capture of citadels, the marching in triumph through many a proud eastern city, after teaching their arrogant rulers that treachery or treason could not be tolerated by the British. Did I once stand on the steps of the throne of the once powerful Moguls of Delhi, and assist at the capture, and escort, after toilsome marches, some of the turbulent princes of India; and in all these had the honour of serving under such soldiers as Hardinge, Gough, Pollock, Nott, Smith, Havelock, and a Cathcart. Apart from this, in another continent, hunting the huge elephant in the jungles, the slow, stealthy creep to the leeward of the beast—the shot—the roar—the crash into the thicket—the double shot—and eventually the heavy thud with which he falls to the earth almost lifeless.
It has often been said, "Once a soldier, always a soldier," and another common saying equally as true, "It runs in the blood." These assertions are true as far as my experience has led me to judge. I am but a poor example of the truth. One has only to read over the names of our country's heroes, and, tracing them for generations back, their ancestors have mostly belonged to either branch of Her Majesty's service. I am now in the sere and yellow leaf, but would to-morrow, if not so incapacitated heartily join my old comrades—"The Pride of England—the Terror of India," ready to go over the same ground again. This cannot be, however. We all have our day; young men are coming to the front every day, animated with the same spirit, but, it seems to me, possessed with more caution. They, no doubt, when called, will emulate the example of their predecessors in deeds of bravery.
The Peninsular war, ending at Waterloo, produced brave and heroic men, who have left their names on the scroll of fame. The Sikh war added another long list, in which Aliwal and Sobraon heroes figure conspicuously, as did also the Maharatta war. Again, the Crimea, with its terrible charge of the Six Hundred, and the dreadful sufferings through the severe winter of 1854 and 1855, will never be forgotten. Then the Indian Mutiny, where our countrymen's names come in with those of Sir Colin and Havelock, for a high meed of praise—all showing that in the breasts of the sons of the "Three Kingdoms" there is born a living fire, which, when kindled on the cry of the oppressed or down-trodden of earth will burn till liberty and freedom is enthroned.