The morning news. [volume] (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, 1895-03-27
TIE. SIEGE OF LUCKNOW.
The Scene of the Cantata of Fair
Ellen.


Ellen.
One of the most thrilling incidents of
modern history furnishes the theme for
the beautiful cantata, Fair Ellen, which
will be sung at the music festival con-
cert tonight.
The telling of the story in unadorned
prose kindles a fire in the blood, but when
poetry and music combine to bring up the
details with graphic power, he is cold in
deed who Is not carried away by a wave
OF mingled amotions-tender sympathy
Tor suffering; warm admiration for long
continued devotion to duty in the face of
the most appalling dangers, and a pas
sionate exultation in the sublime heroism
of the little band which swept like
mountained torrent under burning skies
through tangled jungles across great riv-
ers, cutting their way through enemies
outnumbering them a hundred-fold; fight
ing from street to street and house to
house. until at last Colin Campbell stands
face TO face and eye to eye with Have
lock and Putram-and with shoutings and
tears and thanksgivings to Almighty God
the arms of the rescuers and of the res
cued one about each others necks and
Lucknow is saved.
The summer of 1857 found the whole
of India like a volcano in eruption. From
there was sickening repetitions of the
most awful scenes of bloodshed, in which
neither age nor sex were spared. Ten
der women and innocent little children
met the same, or even worse doom than
the husbands, brothers and fathers, who
died fighting. In almost every city there
was the same story. A little body of En-
glish men and women shut up in build
ings never intended for purposes of de-
Tense, sparsely provided, in many in
stances, with food and water, above them
the blazing heat of an Indian sky-and
around them myriads of foes thirsting
for their blood and confident that they
had TO wait for it but a short time. All
cohesion of the British forces was lost;
each city or town was isolated and for
a time it seemed that the end of England's
rule in that land had come.
Sir Henry Lawrence, who commanded
the garrison at Lucknow, warned in time
by signs which other officers elsewhere
failed to appreciate, had hastily forth
fed the group of buildings in that city
known as the Residency, and in the early
part of July retired into the lines with
the Europeans who were in the city, men,
women and children, and q small regiment
of infantry. The natives at once closed
around him and the seige began. Safety
was to be found nowhere within the en-
closure, every part of it was dominated
by a searching fire of artillery and mus
kerry, kept up without intermission night
and day
The food supply was scant and water
could be reached only at great bodily
hazard. Lawrence was killed by a shell
that burst in the room where he was
sitting two days after the opening of the
siege. Death and wounds were on every
side; sickness broke out. Yet the thought
of yielding had no place in any heart.
They had learned the awful fate of the
garrison at Cawnpore and they knew
how great We're the chances against their
escaping similar end. Still there was
the deep underlying feeling that if their
brethren could save them it would be
done, and they held out grimly wait
ing that salvation. Days passed into
weeks and weeks into months, and still
the siege went on In September Have
lock fought his way into the town with
a small force and his coming brought
courage and good cheer to the garrison
for a time. But soon it became appar-
ent that there were only more mouths
to feed for the implacable foe gathered
more closely around the devoted city in
constantly increasing numbers. There
was no exit from it, and women and
children were dying, and hope was almost
at an end, and strong men were preparing
with their own hands to destroy those
who were nearest and dearest to them.
Such was Lucknow on that fateful No
vember morning, when Jessie Brown, wife
of an artillery man, who had been al
most overwhelmed by the griefs and hard
ships of the situation, suddenly sprang to
her feet with a wild scream of excite
ment, "Dinna We hear it," she cried;
"Dinna ye hear it. Aye, I'm no dream
ing It's the slogan of the highlandersi
We're saved! We're savedW But, alas
listen as they would, no other ears could
hear the blessed sound, and hopes that
had kindled for moment were sinking
again into despair, when once more the
woman. who had fallen to the ground,
sprang to her feet and repeated her
passionate cry: "WiH We no believe it,
moo? The Campbells are coming, the
Campbells are coming"
And then through the deep thunderings
of artillery, above the mighty rolling
storm of musketry could be heard shrin
and clear. yet still far away the pipes
of the gallant highland brigade, led by
that noble soldier, Sir Colin Campbell,
marching rushing to their relief with ban
ners flying, with hearts aglow with love,
with honor. with daring-and their enc
mics melt before them like mists before |
the morning sun and Lucknow is saved.
This final scene has always appealed |
most powerfully to the Imagination. Poets |
and painters in many lands have dwelt |
upon it's affecting incidents, but 1t is |
doubtful whether any work brings it more |
forcibly before us than the cantata of |
Fair Ellen. The composer seems to have |
caught the very spirit that animated ev- |
cry action of the stirring event. By po- |
etc license plain, honest Jessie Brown be- |
comes Fair Ellen" but the facts are all |
there and we are brought into active |
Sympathy with every phase Of feeling that !
they suggest-despair suddenly aroused to |
hope doubt and disappointment, hope /
again awakens into certainty and the final |
frenzy of joy and gratitude.
The music throughout Is dramatic In the /
extreme and Of the most pleasing char /
acter In no part OF the vocal score is i
there any hint Of the wild march that 1
melted the brave highlanders 10 their
deeds OF daring, but all through the In
strumental part Il carries out most unex-
pectedly. go that unconseiously the ear