Seen and Unseen

I started with a young frien

al or mystical aspects of the country. And, for myself, I went there in those days rather to see the glorious buil

the Possible, for I am very much inclined to think that My

essly "borné" and sunk in materialism, incapable of exercising an imagination which they don't possess; with a top dressing of conventional orthodoxy, so far as their own special religion is concerned, bu

f Art-in its various branches-with the first village yokel we happened to meet in the road. I was confirmed in these ideas by noticing the difference in the welcome accorded to a charming young Swedish lady, whom we met at Benares on her wedding tour. She had brought excellent native introductio

be seen whether, by any fortunate accident, I may then be more successful in encountering anything more interesting than th

book to personal incidents, as to which

ment House for several years as Military Secretary to Sir Robert Egerton (who wa

as most people nowadays know, is a red standstone tower, with staircase of rough stone inside, and small windows pierced through at varying intervals. It stands upon an extens

of English labourers would have been. But on arrival we found there was no question of intelligent historical interest. The fact was that a poor coolie-who had just climbed up the Memorial Tower by the inner staircase-had fallen out of one of the windows descri

y surrounded by natives, and no real help could be given without fear of doing more harm than good before the doctor was brought to the spot. Therefore merely to go and look on, without being able to succour, seemed to me an added horror to the tragedy, and I turned round r

ho was then living in London, where I was in the habit of visiting her constantly when in town), was

s time to make a move if she meant to come down for luncheon. Suddenly the door opened, and I walked into her be

d what had upset me" so much. She spoke to me, asking what had happened; but I took no notice of her questions, standing with my face to the window and my back to her for a few moments. Then I turned round, a

ked out of the door in a great hurry, and then for the first time I remembered that you were in India. It had all seemed so natural, as you had often been in my bedroom, that I only thought at t

letter to her telling her of the incident. My letter was written a day or two later I think; but I was keeping a strict diary at t

s on my return to England, also my letter which crossed the one f

ertainment. I had looked inside the Memorial, and had seen that the stone steps were crumbling away and looked very unsafe, so when he came back and said: "Something

the whole city could be induced to pass the Mutiny Memorial at midnight. The few daring souls who had passed there, had found the tower all lighted up inside, and the Sepoys and the British soldiers had

her reception of the story; and this made me feel intensely sorry for the moment, that Lady Wincote, who would have been as much interested as myself, should not have been present. Did this moment of intense desire for her, proje

psychic experiences, for I find another one rec

servant, and we made a long tour, returning about six p.m. past Ludlow Castl

ousin, Prince George of Greece, and they were expected to arrive in Delhi that same evening.

ox of my carriage, and u

on-can't go look see

eagerly-"everything ready-all

t arranged for about seventy people was to take place! I made the best of my opportunity, ranged through the numerous bedrooms-with hanging Japanese blinds shutting them off and each one inscribed with the card of the special Russian or Greek general who formed part of the suit

sence of the guests for whom al

for a moment, contrasting the dead and almost eerie silence,

The picture in question had no artistic value-the painting was flat and poor; even the subject did not strike me for the first moment as anything very remarkable. It was the portrait of a man in the

e eyes of the portrait that held me, something that rose triumphant above the artist's limitations. At the same moment I was conscious of a Presence behind my back; of somebody who was looking at the pictur

ng. There was no name on the picture of either subject or artist, no possible clue to identity, and looked at as a picture alone, there was nothing in the flat, conventional presentment of the features to account for my experience. This made it the more remarkable. I could scarcely tear myself away from the almost overwhelming sense of the presence of some stro

nd the object which roused it, led me to make inquiries, i

y perseverance was rewarded, and my impression amply justified, by finding that I had

dead man could impress himself upon the livin

anded down the memory of this "god rather than man," who had to dismount from his horse occa

the most diverse character; the devotion with which he inspired his soldiers, and h

n I found out Brigadier-General Nicholson's grave at Delhi, after my Ludlow Castle experience, I left my flow

her coincidence, and I mu

ial coincidence, to which I refer, took place at Agra, when my frie

roes. As everything connected with that historical tragedy seems to have perennial interest for every Englishman-no matter what his creed o

th Lancers in Greathead's pursuing column, and was present in the actions of Bolimshuhur and Alighur and battle of Agra-where he was dangerously wounded, having received a musket-shot wound and twenty-two sabre cuts. He was mentioned in the des

wever, had remained firmly imbedded in my mind-first, that a brother officer had told me that he was standing close by Colonel Jones when, as a young officer, the latter attended the Levée to receive his Victoria Cross, a

ad been nursed there. This latter proved to have been a mistake on the part of my informants. It was the Moti Musjid (the Pearl Mosque) wh

o, with the wholesome dread of a well-read reviewer before my eyes, I determined to go to the fountain-head, and ask Colonel Jones himself to supply me with t

down to Lucknow, and as three squadrons of the 9th Lancers were tol

eir story that the enemy was twelve miles away, and therefore took up ground for our camp, just by the graveyard and parade-ground, which you will remember. There was a high crop of sugar-cane, concealing everything beyond the

attery, F.A., which formed the left of the line, consisting of our other two squadrons, m

o he limbered up, and we all (i.e. our squadron and Blunt's guns) began to straggle back through the high crops. But Blunt said he must leave one troop with two of his guns, and French's troop was stopped for the purpose. Instead of

arade-ground, with a blue squadron of (mutinied) regular cavalry in support, both

se pass round the left flank of my little troop; then I gave

hat I should be hit before I could do so, and I was almost within reach before he fired, and his bullet went through my bridle

bers were registered by his sabre cuts in so ghastly a fashion), I was not left to my fate; on the contrary, the man on the left of my troop, who alone could s

my's probable front of perhaps fifty yards. So there were plenty of Sowars left to mob round me and to keep off the man

realise where the heroism came in-which heroism is a vital point in my "coincidence." Fortunately, I have the best authority for saying that the "Blunt" mentioned in this record always maintained that Colonel Alfred Jones had "saved his guns." It appears that at the time of the unexpected attack fro

to put on sword and pistol and ride straight in to the enemy's ranks. No wonder the poor people shut

to Agra to race some ponies, divided us at the table d'h?te. He and I had been neighbours for two or three days, when he

hospital. No one knew anything about it. One old Hindoo, evidently thinking I wished him to say "Yes," remembered hearing that this had

e well-known fact that a Hindoo of that class always tri

ed why I was so k

d at Agra during the Mutiny, and from a child I hav

as a hospital, but I think the Pearl Mosque may hav

the fact that I had not mentioned

oned it, although realising that Major Pulford was too young

naturally. My boyish hero was a fellow named Jones of the 9th Lancers, who was so awfully plucky in their celebrated charge, when surprised by the enemy on

ought had been nursed in the

to the hero of his youth. For myself, I recognised that I had sat next to the only man, probab

d," he said eagerly. "Do let me drive you and your friend over

id impression of the scene of my friend's gallan

d active-nearly fifty years late