Towards the end of July, cholera, fever, and smallpox joined their ravages to those of war, and cut off many of the garrison. On the 7th of August, Kavanagh had a narrow escape from death. He had left his house to report himself to his superior officer, and unwittingly exposed himself to the fire of the enemy, from which he was rescued by two of his friends who saw his danger. His courage was not of a calculating character, and his warlike enthusiasm having led him to fire without orders, he was placed under arrest. He was soon released, and, taught by experience, was content for the future to check his undisciplined ardour and to obey the directions of his superiors. August passed drearily away. The defenders, when there was a lull in the attack, climbed to the roofs of their houses and looked out, like sister Anne, for assistance which never came. Hope and despair alternately gained the mastery over them. They rejoiced as they thought of the serried ranks of their countrymen advancing; they shuddered as they thought of their wives, and sisters, and children, exposed to the same fate as the victims of Cawnpore. At one time they amused themselves with reckless gaiety in writing lampoons upon one another; now they gave way to unreasoning despondency, and cursed the heartlessness of their countrymen in leaving them thus to perish amid the ruins. In this, as in similar straits, the women were far more hopeful and unselfish than the men: they concealed their own fears, and often starved themselves that their husbands and children might eat. The ministering angels of that beleaguered fort, their presence exercised a wholesome power which gave hope to the despairing and courage to the feeble. Had there been none of the gentler and weaker sex in Lucknow, it is doubtful whether its garrison of strong men would have stood out so long.