Poets have sung how the women of old turned their hair into bow-strings, that their men might fight the enemy. Those Cawnpore women would have done the same, if it had been needed. And they did do an equivalent. When the canister could not be rammed home, owing to the damage done to the guns by the enemy’s fire, these noble women took off their stockings. These were filled with the contents of the shot-cases, and it is probably the only time that such cartridges were used. The days lengthened into weeks, but still these lion hearts could not be quelled. Sadly reduced were their ranks by death; for what the enemy’s fire failed to do, privations and sickness completed. One of the greatest wants felt was that of water. The small quantity in store when the siege began was soon exhausted, and the only supply to be obtained was from a small well that stood in the open compound. The cruel enemy knew this, and they kept guns pointed, and special marksmen for that particular spot. To go for water was to go to almost certain death. And yet every morning men were found who volunteered for the awful work, until around the well there grew up a pile of dead, where they were obliged to be left, for there was nowhere to bury them. At last came one of the heaviest blows that had fallen upon the garrison. The barrack with the thatched roof was burnt down; it had enjoyed an immunity from this long-expected disaster, but the fatal shot came one day that set it on fire. How the fiendish hearts of the coward mutineers beat with joy as they saw the flames leap into the air! It was a terrible disaster for the noble defenders, as many of the women and children had to lie upon the bare ground without any shelter from the dews by night or the sun by day. Matters had grown desperate enough now. The food was all but done; the well was all but dry. The air was poisoned by the unburied dead. Sickness and disease were hourly thinning the number of the wretched people; and yet there was not a man there, not a woman, nay, not even a child, who would have consented to dishonourable surrender. During the progress of the siege, there was one who was not able to render much, if any, assistance. This was Lieutenant Harper, who recovered but slowly from the effects of his wound; the want of proper nourishment and other necessaries retarded his progress to convalescence. Haidee watched over him, nursed him with untiring care, and gradually brought him from the very brink of the grave. When he gained strength, he felt that the time had come to render what poor assistance he could. How best could that be done? was a question he put to Haidee and Gordon, who had been amongst the most prominent defenders. After some reflection Haidee answered-- “If you could reach the outside world, and procure succour, we might all be saved.”