“Officers commanding Infantry Brigades, you will parade your regiments in contiguous columns in rear, and under cover of the cavalry barracks half an hour before sunrise, according to seniority. And now, gentlemen, good night, for I have much to do,” continued Sir Colin. “The enemy muster twenty-five thousand men, with all the guns of the Gwalior Contingent. We can count only about four thousand and thirty-two guns.”
“And quite enough, too,” exclaimed the gallant Peel, replying to his chief, utterly against all military etiquette. “We’ll have more before we pipe to supper to-morrow night. I say, Hughes, you can answer for how my fellows do their work? Eh!”
There was a general laugh, a few hearty shakes of the hand, as the officers of the force crowded round their beloved leader, and the council of war broke up.
“Let General Wyndham have this order, Ogilvie,” were the last words Hughes heard, as he took his way into the night. “It will tell him to open the heaviest fire he can from his entrenched camp before sunrise.”
Some one touched him on the shoulder. It was General Greathead.
“Are you well enough to take command of your regiment?” asked the General, pointing to the left arm, which was in a sling.
“I would not relinquish the honour for any reward the world could give me,” was the reply.
“Very well, Colonel Hughes, then good night. We shall meet at sunrise, and a memorable day it will be. Good night!” and shaking hands heartily, as men do under such circumstances, the two separated, taking their way to their respective commands, challenged at every few paces by the watchful sentries, the boom of an occasional gun from the town breaking the stillness of the night.
Morning dawned bright and beautiful, with that freshness in the air so well known to all who have inhabited hot countries. The guns in the town and entrenchments were for once silent, as the domes and minarets of Cawnpore flashed back the first rays of the rising sun. The river rolled its sacred waters lazily along, and the trees in the compounds, and on its banks, hardly moved in the breeze. The Ganges canal alone separated the out-pickets of the two forces, the ring of an occasional shot breaking the calm stillness of the morning.
Behind the Cavalry Barracks, and close to the Allahabad road, corps after corps formed up. There were Hope’s and Inglis’s brigades. Shoulder to shoulder stood the men of those two splendid regiments, the 42nd and 93rd Highlanders, and there, too, laughing, joking, and putting all notions of discipline at utter defiance, were the gallant tars of the Naval Brigade.