"Now began the difficulty, as from the small force we had, it was very hard work to drive a large body of men out of such a city as Delhi. It took four days to accomplish, but at length, on the morning of the 20th, the flag of Old England floated gracefully out over the palace of the Great Mogul. And now for what we (the cavalry) did. At 3 a. m.[47] we moved down in column of squadrons to the rear of our batteries, and waited there till about 5 a. m., when the enemy advanced from the Lahore Gate with two troops of artillery, no end of cavalry, and a lot of infantry, apparently to our front. I think they intended to try and take our old position now that we had got theirs. In an instant horse artillery and cavalry were ordered to the front, and we went there at the gallop, bang through our own batteries, the gunners cheering us as we leapt over the sand-bags, &c., and halted under the Moree Bastion, under as heavy a fire of round shot, grape, and canister, as I have ever been under in my life. Our artillery dashed to the front, unlimbered, and opened upon the enemy, and at it they both went 'hammer and tongs.' Now you must understand we had no infantry with us. All the infantry were fighting in the city. They sent out large bodies of infantry and cavalry against us, and then began the fire of musketry. It was tremendous. There we were (9th Lancers, 1st, 2d, 4th Sikhs, Guide Cavalry, and Hodson's Horse) protecting the Artillery, who were threatened by their infantry and cavalry. And fancy what a pleasant position we were in, under this infernal fire, and never returning a shot. Our artillery blazed away, of course, but we had to sit in our saddles and be knocked over. However, I am happy to say we saved the guns. The front we kept was so steady as to keep them back until some of the Guide infantry came down and went at them. I have been in a good many fights now, but always under such a heavy fire as this with my own regiment, and then there is always excitement, cheering on your men, who are replying to the enemy's fire; but here we were in front of a lot of gardens perfectly impracticable for cavalry, under a fire of musketry which I have seldom seen equalled, the enemy quite concealed, and here we had to sit for three hours. Had we retired, they would at once have taken our guns. Had the guns retired with us, we should have lost the position. No infantry could be spared to assist us, so we had to sit there. Men and horses were knocked over every minute. We suffered terribly. With my usual good luck I was never touched. Well, all things must have an end. Some infantry came down and cleared the gardens in our front, and as their cavalry never showed, and we had no opportunity of charging, we fell back, and (the fire being over in that quarter) halted and dismounted.[48] All this time hard fighting was going on in the city. The next day, and up to the morning of the 19th, we did nothing (I am now speaking exclusively of the cavalry brigade) but form in line on the top of the ridge, ready to pursue the enemy should they turn out of the city in force."[49]
September 16th.—I have just returned from a very long and terribly hot ride of some hours to ascertain the movements, position, and line of retreat of the enemy, and I can do no more than report my safety. I grieve much for poor Major Jacob, we buried him and three sergeants of the regiment last night; he was a noble soldier. His death has made me a captain, the long wished-for goal; but I would rather have served on as a subaltern than gained promotion thus. Greville and Owen are doing well, but I much fear there is no hope for poor Nicholson; his is a cruel wound, and his loss would be a material calamity. You may count our real officers on your fingers now—men, I mean, really worthy the name. General Wilson is fairly broken down by fatigue and anxiety, he cannot stand on his legs to-day; fortunately, Chamberlain is well enough to go down and keep him straight; and Colonel Seaton also,—two good men, if he will be led by them. All is going on well; the magazine was carried by storm this morning, with nominal loss, and our guns are knocking the fort and palace about. All the suburbs have been evacuated or taken. I have just ridden through them, and all the enemy's heavy guns have been brought into camp. In forty-eight hours the whole city, I think, with its seven miles of enceinte, will be ours; our loss has been very heavy: 46 officers killed and wounded, 200 men killed, and 700 or 800 wounded.
September 17th.—All is going on well, though slowly; the Sepoys still occupy a portion of the city, and are being gradually driven backwards, while the palace and fort are continually played upon by shell and shot; not above 3,000 or 4,000 of the rebel troops remain in the city. Head-quarters are there, and I am going down immediately to take up my quarters with the staff. I expect to-morrow will see the last of it, but there is no calculating with anything like certainty on the proceedings of these unreasoning wretches. I am thankful to say Nicholson is a little better to-day, and there appears some hope of his recovery, though a very slight one. Mr. Colvin is dead: another celebrity taken away in this time of trial. The home mail of the 10th of August has arrived, but brought no letters for me as yet, but very few have arrived in all. The Government at home seem at last awaking to a sense of the importance of this crisis in Indian affairs.
September 18th.—There is nothing worth speaking of doing here. We are still shelling the fort and palace, but as slowly, alas, as possible. I am writing in great haste, in order to go down and see my "intelligence" people. Some of the enemy are trying negotiation. I only hope they may find it is too late, and that we may pursue and destroy the wretches whom we have to thank for so much barbarity and bloodshed.
September 19th.—We are making slow progress in the city. The fact is, the troops are utterly demoralized by hard work and hard drink, I grieve to say. For the first time in my life I have had to see English soldiers refuse repeatedly to follow their officers. Greville, Jacob, Nicholson, and Speke were all sacrificed to this. We were out with all the cavalry this morning on a reconnaissance, or rather demonstration, for some miles, and got a wetting for our pains; however, rain at this season is too grateful to be complained of.
September 20th.—I have been much shocked (even familiar as I have become with death) by poor Greathed's[50] sudden death yesterday from cholera; the strongest and healthiest man in camp snatched away after a few hours' illness. Sir T. Metcalfe also is very ill with the same cruel disease; what a harvest of death there has been during the past four months, as if war was not sufficiently full of horrors. The rebels have fled from the city in thousands, and it is all but empty; only the palace is still occupied, and that we hope to get hold of immediately, and so this horribly protracted siege will be at an end at last, thank God. None but those who fought through the first six weeks of the campaign know on what a thread our lives and the safety of the Empire hung, or can appreciate the sufferings and exertions of those days of watchfulness and combat, of fearful heat and exhaustion, of trial and danger. I look back on them with a feeling of almost doubt whether they were real or only a foul dream. This day will be a memorable one in the annals of the Empire; the restoration of British rule in the East dates from the 20th September, 1857.
In the Royal Palace Delhi, September 22d.— I was quite unable to write yesterday, having had a hard day's work. I was fortunate enough to capture the King and his favorite wife. To-day, more fortunate still, I have seized and destroyed the King's two sons and a grandson (the famous, or rather infamous, Abu Bukr), the villains who ordered the massacre of our women and children, and stood by and witnessed the foul barbarity; their bodies are now lying on the spot where those of the unfortunate ladies were exposed. I am very tired, but very much satisfied with my day's work, and so seem all hands. We were to have accompanied the movable column, but to-day it is counter-ordered, and we remain here.[51]
September 23d.—When shall I have time to write really a letter? It seems as if I were each day doomed to fresh labor and worry, and I long to shake off the whole coil, and go where I can find repose and peace. Fortunately, my health stands the wear and tear, and as my success has been great I must not grumble.... I came to camp this morning to see after the march of a detachment of my regiment which is ordered, after half a dozen changes, to accompany a movable column which is ordered to proceed towards Agra to-morrow. I am to remain here, and to tell the truth, the business is so mismanaged that I have ceased to care whether I go or stay. I fancy they find me too useful here. We move down bodily to or near the town to-morrow, and everything is in confusion and bustle.
September 24th.—Brigadier Grant, like dear Sir Henry Lawrence, (though both married men themselves,) says that soldiers have no business to marry; under the idea that anxiety for their wives' welfare and safety often induces men to hesitate to run risks which they would otherwise cheerfully undergo. I, on a less selfish principle, question very much whether men have any right to expose their wives to such misery and anxiety as during the last few months have fallen to the lot of so many; and yet it seems hard to say that soldiers, who have so much to endure at times for the sake of others and of their common country, should be denied the happiness of married life, because times of danger will sometimes occur, and certain I am that the love of a noble-hearted woman nerves one's arm to daring and to honor. Happy, however, is the woman whose husband is not a soldier.... Really the rumors which travel about are too ludicrous, though hardly more so than those which take rise and are actually believed in camp.