We had been a long time without messengers, and the last
had not brought us the intelligence so anxiously looked for. Our
impatience was greater since we knew that we could expect nothing
from the natives, and believed the expedition from England to be
on its way: we felt that something was going on and we longed for
the certainty.
How well I remember the 13th of December, a glorious day for us!
No lover ever read, with more joy and happiness the long-expected
note from the beloved one, than I did that day the kind and cheering
letter of our gallant friend, General Merewether. Troops had landed!
Since the 6th of October, our countrymen were in the same land that
saw us captives. Roads, piers, were being made; regiment after
regiment were leaving the shores of India, some already marching
across the Abyssinian Alps to rescue or avenge. It seemed too
delightful to be true: we could hardly credit it. Ere long all must
be over! Liberty or death! Anything was better than continued
slavery. Theodore was coming--_qu'importe_? Was not Merewether
there? the brave leader of many a hard fight; the gallant officer
and accomplished politician. With such men as a Napier, a Staveley
at the head of British troops, who could feel but contempt for petty
vexations? We were prepared even for a worse fate, if it was to be
our lot.
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