When driving the rebels before us past the suburb of Kishenganj, Lieutenant Gabbett and I, in the confusion of the rush, became separated from the few men of our regiment who were engaged on that day, and found ourselves—we being the only officers present—with about fifty soldiers of different corps. For more than half an hour we were completely isolated from the main body, and were occupied in several little fights on our own account. Advancing, we scarcely knew where, and in our excitement fully engaged in chasing the foe, we all at once came most unexpectedly on to a broad road, with open ground on each side. There, to our front, and scarcely 500 yards distant, we saw a gate with embattled towers, the high walls of the city, and a bastion. We were soon descried by the enemy, who depressed their guns and fired at us with grape, fortunately without hitting any of our party. We were in a complete dilemma, under fire of the batteries, cut off from our force, and liable at any moment to be surrounded; so, deeming discretion the better part of valour, we turned about and ran with all speed to the rear, coming upon a troop of Horse Artillery, which was halted amongst some gardens.
Soon the main body of our force returned from the pursuit of the rebels, whom they had driven to within 600 yards of the city wall; and joining our own detachment, who had given us up as lost, we returned to camp about sundown.
Again we had to lament the loss of many fine officers and soldiers. Nearly 200 men had been killed and wounded—a sad diminution of our little army, which, had it long continued, would have entirely decimated the Delhi Field Force. The enemy, however, had suffered most severely, their loss amounting to quite 1,000 men; and the next morning they were seen for hours carting the dead bodies into the city. Unusual bravery was shown by the rebels on this day: they stood fairly in the open, and also attacked the pickets with great pertinacity, assaulting one called the "Sammy House" for hours, and leaving eighty dead bodies in its front, all killed by the infantry of the Guides, who most gallantly held the picket against overwhelming numbers.
Cholera all this time raged in the force, and carried off its victims daily, my own regiment and the 8th being the principal sufferers. It was melancholy to enter the hospital, to see the agony and hear the groans of the men, many of them with their dying breath lamenting the hard fate which had stretched them on a sick-bed and prevented them from doing their duty in the ranks against the enemy. Fever and ague, too, were very prevalent, and hospital gangrene broke out, which attained such virulence that many wounded died from its effects; while of amputations, I believe not one recovered during the whole siege.
We were also in the midst of the Indian monsoon, the most unhealthy season of the year, when rain descended in torrents almost every day, a hot, muggy atmosphere increasing the sickness and adding to the eternal plague of flies, a plague the most nauseating it has ever been my lot to experience. When off duty, it was the custom of some of the officers to pass the time fishing in the canal at our rear. Here, seated on camp-stools brought out by our servants, we amused ourselves for hours, holding lotteries as to who would catch the first fish, the prize being a bottle of beer. To see us on these occasions, full of merriment, one would scarcely have realized the fact that the men employed in this peaceful occupation were part of an army engaged in almost continual warfare, and fighting for very existence. Laughter and jokes filled the air, and chaff reigned supreme; while ever and anon we were rudely recalled to a sense of the dangers around us by the report of a shell bursting over the ridge, or the presence of an orderly, who summoned one of the party to proceed on picket or on some perilous duty at the front.
With regard to provisions, we were plentifully supplied with regular meals, a sufficiency of good food and drinkables; our lot in this respect was far more enjoyable than that of the usual run of campaigners. A large flock of fat sheep accompanied us on the march down from Ferozepore; and I shall never forget the agony of mind of one of our gourmands when one day it was reported that the sheep had all been carried off by the enemy when grazing in the rear of the canal. I had also purchased 100 dozen of ale at Umballah for the use of the mess, and this being noised abroad in the camp, we were visited by several thirsty souls from other regiments, who, less fortunate than ourselves, had neglected furnishing themselves with this tempting beverage. It was a pleasure to us to minister to their wants, though I need hardly say that the stock lasted but a short time, from the numerous calls made on it.
July 17.—General Reed, who had taken command of the army on the death of Sir Henry Barnard, resigned his position on July 17 in consequence of sickness and the infirmities of old age. He was succeeded by General Wilson, of the Artillery, an officer who had already greatly distinguished himself, and under whom the siege was eventually brought to a successful conclusion.
July 18.—For three days after the last sortie the enemy were singularly quiet, quarrelling amongst themselves, as it was reported, and disputing as to what portion of their army was to lead the next sortie. However, on July 18, they again made another attempt upon the Sabzi Mandi and the ridge at Hindoo Rao's.
The force sent to dislodge them was under command of Colonel Jones, of the 60th Rifles, who made his arrangements with singular judgment and tact, and insisted on a regular formation being kept by the troops, instead of the desultory style of action in vogue during previous sorties. There was, however, some very hard fighting in the gardens and serais, where we were received by a storm of bullets; but the men being persuaded to keep well under cover, the losses were not very serious, the casualties amounting in all to about ninety officers and men.[2] The enemy, as usual, suffered severely, more especially from the fire of our field-guns, which mowed them down when collected in groups of two and three hundred together.
[Illustration: FROM THE SMALL PICKET, SABZI MANDI, LOOKING TOWARDS
KISHENGANJ.]