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Updated: June 29, 2025
Often we found the ground hot beneath our feet, while jets of sulphurous vapour greeted our olfactory nerves in an unpleasant way. Still on we climbed till we found ourselves on the very basin of the culminating crater, but were almost driven back by the jets of steam and sulphurous vapours which surrounded us. "A mighty tall chimney to a huge fire burning down below somewhere," observed Lumsden.
His head showed a little too high above the breastworks. Two inches lower, it would have finished him. Both sides had to lie close in daylight. A little to the rear and left was the old church. Capt. Lumsden sent a man to Gen. Quarles, who had his Brigade headquarters just in rear of the church, to borrow a field glass.
"No, no," he exclaimed, "that won't do"; and, still shaking with laughter, rose to take his leave. And as he walked away he was followed by the hearty and genial voice of Lumsden roaring after him: "Mind, I'll catch you some day, Dilawur, and then I'll hang you, as sure as my name's Lumsden!"
He waved his arm and declared forcibly, "I don't know you. I am Nicola el Demonio, the Mexican." Poor old Cowper groaned. The reputation of Nicola el Demonio, if rumours were to be trusted, was a horrible thing for a man with women depending on him. Five or six of these bandits were standing about Lumsden, the major, and myself, fingering the locks of their guns.
Nor was it long before Lumsden had an opportunity of practically demonstrating to the young idea his methods of making war. The corps, barely seven months old, was encamped at K
"We shall soon arrive at a spot where we may be cool enough," observed Lumsden, pointing to a little cross, which rose out of the lava. We scrambled towards it, and on getting to the spot, found a hole about four feet square. A rope-ladder and ropes had been brought.
A few bronzed bandits posted abreast of each mast kept them there by the menace of bell-mouthed blunderbusses pointed upwards. Lumsden and Mercer had been each tied flat down to a spare spar. They presented an appearance too ridiculous to awaken genuine compassion.
I saw old Cowper run to the side and aim his pistol overboard; there was an ineffectual click; he made a gesture of disgust, and tossed it on deck. His head hung dejectedly down upon his chest. Lumsden said, "Thank God, oh, thank God!" and the old man turned on him like a snarling dog. "You infernal coward," he said. "Haven't you got a spark of courage?"
I ought to have said that my grandfather brought a good account of kind Mr Fordyce, who was soon coming to England, while Lumsden, my old school-fellow, had now the chief charge of his affairs in Ceylon. I had learned much by my voyages and travels.
Appointed as adjutant and second-in-command to a born exponent of sound, yet daring, methods of warfare, his early training in the Guides stood him in good stead in his brief, stirring, and glorious career. In the execution of their orders Lumsden and Hodson with the Guides' cavalry set off quietly after dark for their twenty-three miles ride.
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