“How slowly we move on, with the halt sounding every moment, Curtis!” said Major Hughes, as he sat on his horse at the head of the regiment, speaking to his senior captain, towards midday of the 27th of November.
“Slowly indeed, and our force is weak, in artillery particularly. Two troops of Horse Artillery, the Naval Brigade, one heavy field battery, and three light ones, with the 4th, 5th, and 6th Infantry Brigades, and a handful of cavalry, seem a small force.”
“The more the honour for us; they shall hear of us with pride in the old land,” answered Hughes. “If ever we meet those scoundrels of Nana’s with the bayonet, we will teach them a lesson.”
The regiment was halted near the village of Onao, on a slight eminence, and the two officers looking back could see the long tortuous march of the little army, while far away, far as the eye could reach, the plain was covered with the vast horde of camp followers, which is the great pest of a march in India, mixed with camels and baggage waggons.
The jingling of accoutrements was now heard, as, at a sharp trot, a splendid regiment of English cavalry moved to the front.
“Look out, 150th, there’ll be sharp work for you soon!” shouted the officer commanding, as he rode past, his words replied to by a cheer from the men.
“Major Hughes, call in your light company!” shouted an orderly officer, as he dashed on, not checking his horse. “The Lancers will act as videttes.”
Almost at the same moment, the bugles of the 8th Regiment on the left, and the Punjaub Infantry on the right, were heard, sounding the recall, as an officer of Hodgson’s Horse came up at a hard gallop from the front.
“Bad news from Cawnpore!” he shouted. “Wyndham’s hard pressed; all his outposts driven in, and hardly able to hold his entrenchments!”
“Steady, men, steady!” called Hughes, as a thrill of excitement ran through the corps.