But brave as were the defenders, the long endurance told upon them. They were worn out with watching, and their ranks grew thinner day by day. Those who were killed were carried off in the arms of their companions, who gathered at midnight for their burial in some lonely and retired spot, and while the chaplain in a low voice read the service, the survivors stood around the grave, thinking how soon their turn would come, the gloom of the night in fit harmony with the dark thoughts that filled their breasts.
But darker than any night was the day when Sir Henry Lawrence fell. He was the beloved, the adored commander. "While he lived," said our informant, "we all felt safe." But exposing himself too much, he was struck by a shell. Those around him lifted him up tenderly and carried him away to the house of the surgeon of the garrison, where two days after he died. When all was over "they did not dare to let the soldiers know that he was dead," lest they should give up the struggle. But he lived long enough to inspire them with his unconquerable spirit.
He died on the 4th of July, and for nearly three months the siege went on without change, the situation becoming every day more desperate. It was the hottest season of the year, and the sun blazed down fiercely into their little camp, aggravating the sickness and suffering, till they longed for death, and were glad when they could find the grave. "When my daughter was struck down by a fragment of a shell that fell on the floor, she did not ask to live. She might have been saved if she had been where she could have had careful nursing. But there was no proper food to nourish the strength of the sick, and so she sunk away, feeling that it was better to die than to live."
But still they would not yield to despair. Havelock had taken Cawnpore, though he came too late to save the English from massacre, and was straining every nerve to collect a force sufficient to relieve Lucknow. As soon as he could muster a thousand men he crossed the Ganges, and began his march. The movement was known to the little garrison, and kept up their hopes. A faithful native, who acted as a spy throughout the siege, went to and fro, disguising himself, and crept through the lines in the night, and got inside the Residency, and told them relief was coming. "He had seen the general, and said he was a little man with white hair," who could be no other than Havelock. Word was sent back that, on approaching the city, rockets should be sent up to notify the garrison. Night after night officers and men gazed toward the west for the expected signal, till their hearts grew sick as the night passed and there was no sign. Deliverance was to come, but not yet.
