Summary

Portrait of William Gordon Stables William Gordon Stables On to the Rescue: A tale of the Indian Mutiny… (1895)

Is it any wonder that they look back with horror to the days they spent in the murder-tainted air of Luck- now, or that they converse in whispers of the dread and awful massacres of Delhi and Cawnpore? Not a soul there surely that morn, noon, and night, does not rise in thankfulness to the God who saw fit to shield them from danger and death, and restore them to peace and to safety.
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of William Gordon Stables William Gordon Stables On to the Rescue: A tale of the Indian Mutiny… (1895)

Sir Colin's men too were falling in dozens around him. The crisis of battle had indeed come at last.
The time had come for such decisive action as can only be taken by a hero, that hero himself a genius. The time had come, and the man was there. That man was the white-haired general on his white horse, he with the grim, war-worn, but kindly face, whose every glance gave hope and confidence to the men who knew and so dearly loved him. They were his own lads, as he loved to call them, the men who had fought by his side on the red fields of Balaklava and Alma.
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of William Gordon Stables William Gordon Stables On to the Rescue: A tale of the Indian Mutiny… (1895)

By nine o'clock to-night silence reigned throughout the Highlanders' camp, though it was broken, ever and anon, by the thunderous booming of the guns still plying their deadly rain upon the Eesidency. Among the trees and bushes the fire-flies danced, and great bats went wheeling hither and thither in the starlight. Many of the men were already asleep, others lay with their heads resting on their palms, thinking of their far-off British homes.
But one little group deserves special notice. Five in all they were, and Willie Saunders was the central figure.
Source: Wikisource

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