As soon as night fell a little procession with three little forms on trays
covered with white cloths, and two of larger size, started from Gubbins'
house to the churchyard. Mr. and Mrs. Hargreaves, and Mrs. Righton and her
husband, with two other women, followed. That morning all the five, now to
be laid in the earth, were strong and well; but death had been busy. In
such a climate as that, and in so crowded a dwelling, no delay could take
place between death and burial, and the victims of each day were buried at
nightfall. There was no time to make coffins, no men to spare for the
work; and as each fell, so were they committed to the earth.

A little distance from Gubbins' house the procession joined a larger one
with the day's victims from the other parts of the garrison--a total of
twenty-four, young and old. At the head of the procession walked the Rev.
Mr. Polehampton, one of the chaplains, who was distinguished for the
bravery and self-devotion with which he labored among the sick and
wounded. The service on which they were now engaged was in itself
dangerous, for the churchyard was very exposed to the enemy's fire, and--
for they were throughout the siege remarkably well-informed of what was
taking place within the Residency--every evening they opened a heavy fire
in the direction of the spot where they knew a portion of the garrison
would be engaged in this sad avocation. Quietly and steadily the little
procession moved along, though bullets whistled and shells hissed around
them. Each stretcher with an adult body was carried by four soldiers,
while some of the little ones' bodies were carried by their mothers as if
alive. Mrs. Hargreaves and her daughter carried between them the tray on
which the body of little Rupert Righton lay. Arrived at the churchyard, a
long shallow trench, six feet wide, had been prepared, and in this, side
by side, the dead were tenderly placed. Then Mr. Polehampton spoke a few
words of prayer and comfort, and the mourners turned away, happily without