Nicholson’s plan, which he proceeded to carry out, was to pay a visit to Egypt, where he was desirous to see Thebes, Cairo, and the Pyramids, and thence journey home by way of Constantinople and Vienna. He did not intend to stay long in any of these places, but circumstances were against him. At both the Turkish and Austrian capitals he was detained by adventures which appealed strongly to his chivalrous nature. The account of these comes to us through Sir John Kaye, to whom Nicholson’s mother told the story.

At the time that Nicholson arrived in Constantinople, early in the New Year of 1850, the city held a notable prisoner. This was Louis Kossuth, the Hungarian patriot, whom the Austrians had driven into exile. Owing to British influence, the revolutionary leader’s asylum in Turkey was rendered safe for the time, but a movement was set on foot by his friends to smuggle him out of the country and convey him to America. Such a project received all Nicholson’s sympathies, and when a friend of his an Englishman who had married a Hungarian lady and served in the Magyar army enlisted his help, he readily placed himself at the other’s service.

The scheme was a simple one. Every day Kossuth took a ride accompanied by a few Turkish soldiers, the route being changed on each occasion. It was accordingly arranged that he should choose to ride on a particular day in the direction of the sea-coast. At a certain spot the conspirators were to await him and his escort, overpower the latter, and carry Kossuth on board an American frigate which was to be at hand.

Unhappily for the patriot, a lady who was in the secret revealed it to a bosom friend, who in turn confided in another. In a short time it came to the knowledge of the Austrian ambassador. Representations were at once made to the Turkish authorities, who redoubled their vigilance, and the plot fell through.

The same friend, “General G ,” through whom Nicholson had been interested in the attempt to free Kossuth, now asked the young officer to do him another favour. His wife, a Hungarian lady, as has been said, was imprisoned in an Austrian fortress. So vigorous was the confinement that she was kept in ignorance of her husband’s fate, and the General was anxious to send her news of his escape and present whereabouts. Nicholson promptly undertook to convey a letter to the unfortunate lady, should it be possible to do so, and started off immediately for the fortress.

On arriving at his destination, he marched boldly up to the gate of the citadel, demanding to see the officer of the guard.

“I am Major Nicholson of the Indian Army,” he said, “and I shall be greatly obliged if you will allow me to see my friend, Madame G .”

The request was undoubtedly an irregular one, but the Austrian officer, after a little demur, courteously gave his permission. Nicholson was then conducted to the prisoner’s cell and told that he could have five minutes’ conversation, no longer. As soon as the door had closed behind him, and he and Madame G were alone, he pulled off one of his boots and drew out the letter, saying, “You have just five minutes to read it, and give me any message for your husband.”

There was no time for the poor lady to express her gratitude as fully as she would have liked. Having read the welcome letter, she told her visitor what she wished him to say to her husband, and then the five minutes having expired Nicholson departed.

“These two incidents,” says Sir John Kaye, “speak for themselves. There is no lack, thank God, of kind men, brave men, or good men among us, but out of them all how many would have done these two things for ‘his neighbour’? How many respectable men would at this moment condemn them both?”

What Henry Lawrence and his noble wife thought of the Kossuth enterprise was expressed in a letter from the latter some months later. “You can hardly believe,” she wrote, “the interest and anxiety with which we watched the result of your projected deed of chivalry. . . . When I read of your plan my first thought was about your mother, mingled with the feeling that I should not grudge my own son in such a cause.”

After having performed his mission, Nicholson made his way to London, where he found his mother awaiting him at Sir James Hogg’s town house. It was now the month of April. The rest of the year he spent in sight-seeing, visiting his old home at Lisburn, and looking up various relatives in Ireland and England. He found time, however, to make a journey to St. Petersburg, where he was much impressed by a grand review of troops by the Tsar. This opportunity to study the Russian military system gave him considerable satisfaction, as he had already devoted some attention to the French and Prussian armies. But what struck him most was a recent Prussian invention, the needle-gun, which he saw would be the arm of the future. In strong terms he urged the importance of introducing this weapon in place of the old-fashioned muskets then in use, but his counsel was unheeded.

At the end of 1851 Nicholson bade good-bye to his mother, and set off on his return journey to India. His friend, Herbert Edwardes, had preceded him thither some months earlier, taking with him his newly-wedded wife. To Nicholson Edwardes had said before he left, “If your heart meets one worthy of it, return not alone,” but the advice was not followed. Nicholson, with all the fascination which his personality exerted over women, gave no indication of being susceptible to the grand passion, and he went forth to take up the great task that lay before him single-handed.