On the Ridge stood a lofty building, the Observatory Tower, from the summit of which, during the early part of the siege, a look-out used to be kept on the operations of the enemy.
This fact becoming known, drew on the tower an altogether undesirable share of attention from the guns on the walls of Delhi; and the upper parts of it soon got considerably knocked about by shot and shell. Long after this look-out post had been withdrawn occasional shells used still to be "loosed off" at the tower, making things rather hot for the small knot of officers off duty which used generally to be found up there enjoying the view when anything more interesting than usual was going on in front. On one occasion two or three other men and myself had found our way to the top of it, when we were joined by a gentleman connected with a mercantile firm, to whose enterprise the camp was indebted for its supplies of "tar bund" beer (a luxury for which we were glad to pay sixteen rupees a dozen), Exshaw's brandy and Harvey's sauce, and many varieties of tinned provisions, besides Holloway's pills and ointment, and such like patent nostrums. While we were all looking at the walls of the city, a puff of white smoke was seen to issue from a point known to us as "the hole in the wall" where dwelt a mortar of large calibre. In a few seconds the big shell vomited out from it burst high in the air, fully a quarter of a mile away from us, but in a very accurate alignment for our position. "Down," shouted one of our number, and we all, with the exception of our civilian friend, crouched behind a heavy mass of solid masonry. He, however, stood his ground, folded his arms across his chest, and for a moment surveyed us with a look of half contemptuous surprise. "Why have these stupid fellows sought shelter?" thought he. "The shell has burst ever so far away. The danger is all over now. The pieces must be falling to the ground." Very speedily was he undeceived. Hurtling and hissing, the broken fragments of the shell came rushing onwards and crashed against the tower, fortunately without hitting him. As we stood up he threw himself down. He then learned a lesson, which I dare say he did not soon forget, concerning the momentum of projectiles, and the general advisability of taking a hint from persons presumably likely to know what they were about.
All this time the siege, if so it could be described, "dragged its slow length along;" but in reality, neither was the City invested by us, nor was our force besieged, as has been so often asserted, by the rebel troops. Both forces lay facing each other. Both were in contact along a comparatively short front. Both were entirely open to their respective rear, with practically unmenaced communications in those directions. Neither could prevent reinforcements or supplies reaching the other. We on our part could not even attempt to intercept the various contingents of mutineers which, during the early part of the siege, poured into Delhi from the south; and were hurled, in almost monotonous succession, against our position, while still fresh and undemoralised by defeat, only to be driven back, time after time, with immense slaughter, by the invincible little phalanx of Britons, Sikhs and Gurkhas, which sturdily clung, bull-dog fashion, to the ground it had taken up. For a time the numbers of the enemy continued to increase, as almost daily fresh bodies by regiments and brigades marched into the already crowded city, their arrival noisily saluted by heavy artillery. Our muster roll, on the other hand, far from augmenting, actually dwindled away; for incessant losses from casualties in action were heavily supplemented by deaths from fever and cholera; and our much-needed reinforcements were long in coming. But we rested secure in the firm assurance that sooner or later they would certainly come. We all knew that John Lawrence and his lieutenants were straining every nerve to secure the safety of the Punjab in our rear, by disarming the disaffected Hindustani regiments in that province, and by raising fresh ones, both of cavalry and infantry, from the staunch fighting men of the Khalsa. We knew that as swiftly as could possibly be compassed by human forethought and human energy, these trustworthy and brave levies, and every British regiment that could be spared, and every heavy gun and mortar in the Ferozepore Arsenal, and, almost better than all, the heroic Nicholson would come to our aid; and that then the real siege would begin in earnest, and the fate of Delhi would be sealed.
Early in August took place the only serious effort on the part of the enemy to cut off our communications. To quote from a letter written by General Wilson to Nicholson and received by the latter on the 3rd of August[3]:—"The enemy have re-established the bridge over the Najufgurh Canal (which we had destroyed) and have established themselves in force there, with the intention of moving on Alipore and our communications with the rear. I therefore earnestly beg you to push forward with the utmost expedition in your power, both to drive these fellows from my rear, and to aid me in holding my position." How promptly and effectually Nicholson carried out these instructions is graphically described in the pages of Sir John Kaye's work. On the 14th of August he led into the Delhi Camp the moveable column which had already done yeoman's service by disarming the mutinous regiments at Phillour and Umritsar, and destroying the Sealkote Brigade of rebels at Trimmoo Ghât. On the 25th of August he marched out again at the head of a small force of all arms; and before nightfall he had swept from Najufgurh the "Neemuch Brigade" which was lying in wait to intercept the siege train on its slow approach from Ferozepore Arsenal.
There are some men whose personal appearance harmonises so perfectly with their intellectual and moral characteristics that any one on seeing them for the first time would be almost certain intuitively to guess their identity. Nicholson was one of these. Tall, dark, and stern, he looked every inch what he was, a fearless, self-reliant, fierce and masterful man, born for stormy times and stirring events. It was impossible to associate him with anything commonplace, or otherwise than heroic or great. On me, as on every one else, he produced a vivid impression, which can never become dim. When I first saw him it was only for a moment. He said something in low tones to an acquaintance, and passed on; but instinctively I felt that I had come into contact with one who stood apart from and overtopped other men. "That is Nicholson," I said, knowing that it could be no one else.
On the 4th of September the huge guns and mortars of the siege train, fitly drawn by still more colossal elephants, slowly and solemnly rolled through the camp on to the Ridge. On the 6th the very last batch of reinforcements, a detachment of the 60th Rifles from Meerut, arrived, marching "in their usual jaunty way" as described by Hervey Greathead in a letter to his wife written on that day. The Royal Engineers had already filled a vast "Engineers' park" with fascines, gabions, sand bags, and every conceivable appliance for the bombardment and storm. Nothing had been overlooked. Nothing remained but to begin the real and final siege and deliver the assault.
That no time was lost is evidenced by the fact that one breaching battery of six heavy guns, within seven hundred yards of the Moree Bastion, was finished and armed on the evening of the 6th, and began its work of destruction on the 7th.