Calcutta. Grand ball.
Pushing on now, on a different errand, we re-crossed the well-known Sutledge River, came to Ferusha, where we fought on the 22nd and 23rd December, 1845; and, after pitching tents, rambled over the field, one we had left in hot pursuit of the enemy. Words cannot be found to describe our horror on finding all around was still as death; not a living soul to be seen, the village completely deserted, heaps of men, horses and camels lying there for three months unburied; the infantry, just as they fell, clothed complete; the dragoons the same way accoutred and spurred; the horses and camels in the ditch just as they fell. We did as much as we could, and went on towards Meerut, where we arrived on the 2nd May, being met by the band of the 14th Light Dragoons, who played us to the station. We were seven weeks from Lahore. Giving up our horses, we made all preparations for home by Calcutta, 900 miles from Meerut. We now sold our library, distributing the proceeds, together with the benevolent and canteen fund, among the men. This, with our prize money, after being separately awarded, was sent to our army agents in London, to be drawn when we reached home. On the 8th of May we started on foot for Gurmatesa Gaut, on the Ganges, just three days' march, where we were to take boats for Calcutta. Before embarking on the Ganges, a despatch was received from Lord Gough appointing our Colonel, Cureton, Adjutant-General of the Army in Bengal. He bade us a sorrowful good-bye, saying he came out with the regiment in 1822, hoped to go home with them, but this promotion frustrated that. "All the honours I have," said he, "and all the promotions I have received, I attribute to the brave men of the 16th." All shook hands with him, some went so far as to embrace him, and tears were shed, for he was a father to his men. We had a strange voyage down the Ganges, the water being low at this time of the year, and our men did almost as they pleased, so joyful were they at the prospect of going home. Few officers accompanied us, as many went over land to England. Sailing at night was dangerous, our boats were therefore moored; sandbars, stumps of immense trees, and an accumulation of rubbish met us everywhere. Our time was generally passed shooting flying-foxes, monkeys, alligators. We as often shot dead bodies as living, the Hindoos consigning all the dead to the waters of their goddess, Ganga. We reached Dum Dum, twelve miles from Calcutta, on 29th July, 1846, and as the ship at Calcutta was not ready, while she was getting so we took up quarters in the Artillery barracks at this station. Here we had a grand ball given by the citizens, and at which our newly-appointed Colonel and a sergeant's wife made the only couple who came out with the regiment. We had all the grandees of Calcutta up at it. Every tree for miles was illuminated; dancing was kept up all night. At this ball I met a young friend, who had been a comrade of mine, when he was one of us, but who, fortunately, had got married to a wealthy heiress, and was now settled near Calcutta, in a most beautiful mansion. I have introduced the reader before to Calcutta, but it was only a bird's-eye view from on board ship; now, however, as I had leisure to visit it and walk through its streets, I may give a more detailed description of it. Most of the wealthy people live outside, in the suburbs, such as the Dum Dum or Barrackpoor road. The city itself covers an area of sixteen square miles, and has some fine streets; the principal ones, at each corner have stands, where you can hire a pallankeen for a rupee, or two shillings, a day, to go shopping or visiting; four waiters carry it, two in front and two behind. They are beautifully got up, lined with silk cushions and generally have a crimson blind. The old city is of bamboo structure, thatched roofs, mostly inhabited by the lower order of natives. In the city proper the buildings are large and handsome, built mostly of brick, some of stone and marble. The brick houses seem very old, as if they had been built at a very early period. It is quite common to see elephants, mostly bearing some wealthy Rajah in his howda, georgeously attired, towards the water front. They are quite commonly used drawing heavy burdens, logs, &c. It is hardly credible, but they are so sagacious as to be used in bringing messages. I mean such as going alone for water. Camels may be met in strings bringing goods from all points of India. In the evening, the mall of Calcutta is the common cool resort. Here you may see all the fashionables, and people from all parts of the earth. The bazaars are very numerous; in any of them you can purchase for a small sum any article you require. There are also some very fine hotels.
THE MONKEY TEMPLE AT BENARES.
Embark for home.
March to Canterbury.
On the 14th of August we marched to Calcutta to embark, two hundred and eighty-seven men all told. This was the remnant of eight hundred who marched to the Panjaub in 1845. The hottest day ever known in India was the day we embarked. Twelve men fell dead from the excess of heat; indeed, the authorities were blamed for ordering us out on such a day, on account of having some men who had been wounded, and a number of women and children on board. The captain put to sea at once, to avoid, if possible, any further sickness. On the 19th we got clear into the Bay of Bengal. The monsoons set in, and we had a succession of storms for three weeks. We cleared in good time Point de Galle; rounded Cape of Good Hope in the beginning of October, and ran for St. Helena. Here we took in fresh water. A French man-of-war, with troops from the island of Bourbon, anchored alongside of us. Of course, we fraternized as well as we possibly could, but the associations connected with St. Helena and England were not then as well smoothed down as now. The island stands alone like a large rock in mid-ocean. Passing the island of Ascension, nothing particular occurred till our arrival in the British Channel, on 23rd December, 1846. By daylight we looked on the land we loved, and saw patches of snow here and there, and as we had seen none for fifteen years, it was a sight we enjoyed. We felt all warmed up, and hearts beat high when we saw the white cliffs of Dover. We waited off Deal for a pilot, and being surrounded by bumboats, we found a difference in the desire to cheat with exorbitant prices for bread, butter or cheese, to what we had been used to by native Indians. The Ramsgate tug came off and took us to Gravesend, where we arrived on the evening of the 28th. Hundreds of boats put off, filled with relatives—mothers, sisters, brothers and old sweethearts—to welcome the living heroes, or hear some sad talk of the absent. The sight was heart-rending in some instances. One poor mother, hearing of her son having been killed at Sobraon, threw herself into the water, frantic, and with difficulty was rescued. In the afternoon two war steamers took us aboard for Herne Bay, to save us the march, as our station was Canterbury, and it was distant from the bay only seven miles. On landing, one of the men fell out, and actually knelt and kissed the ground, a bystander in the crowd saying, "Bless his soul, how he loves the old sod;" and many came and shook hands, not only with him but with all within reach. Omnibusses and waggons were ready for the sick, and women and children. We got leave to breakfast for a short time, and what a rush for the hotels. Storming an enemy's fort was nothing to it. Assembling at nine, we marched to Canterbury. Here, the Mayor and Corporation, accompanied by two bands, came to meet us. Between laurel branches in profusion, music from two bands, crowds of ladies and gentlemen in carriages, citizens on foot shouting, huzzahing and handkerchief-waving, we got a right royal reception in the famous old city; and as the officers commanding considered it no use to close the gates, or attempt to confine us within walls, we were allowed two days' leave, to do as we pleased.
"Home, sweet home."
On the first of January I received my month's furlough. I started for London. The day was very cold and snowing; how pleasant for me, just home from the hottest spot on earth. A cab soon brought me to Westminster, where my parents resided; I reached home at half-past eleven a.m. My sisters, when I left, were children, in those few years had grown women. One of them opened the door in answer to my knock, and fainted on seeing one of the 16th, not perhaps that she recognized me, as I was bronzed with the sun and heavily bearded. This brought my mother; dear old mother, how one does get fond of mother, when separated from her, and away, as I was in India, from her kind care. Ah, mother, I remember you yet, though I am old now, as you fell into my arms, and almost swooned. My sisters had to remove her, till by the aid of restoratives they got her round; then, such a look, sadness and joy combined. It was me, though the many reports of the fearful suffering of my regiment, she could believe until she saw me herself, whether her eyes would ever see her son again. Yes, mother,