"There has been an outcry throughout the camp at ——'s having fled from Bhagput, the bridge which caused me so much hard riding and hard work to get, some time ago."
He has actually bolted, on a report of mutineers coming, leaving boats, bridge, and all. By this conduct he has lost our communication with Meerut, and that too when our reinforcements were actually in sight. The consequence is that I have to go down to Bhagput to recover boats, bridge, &c., and reopen communication, which is done at once and satisfactorily; and by July 2d we are quite comfortable, for I have set myself up with plates, &c., for one rupee, and Colonel Seaton's traps and servants will be here to-day ... except that we are somewhat vexed in our spirits, for
"—— has been shelved and allowed to get sick, to save him from supersession. I do not like euphuisms. In these days men and things should be called by their right names, that we might know how far either should be trusted.
"July 5th.—General Barnard dies of cholera after a few hours' illness. Personally I am much grieved, for no kinder or more considerate or gentlemanly man ever lived. I am so sorry for his son, a fine brave fellow, whose attention to his father won the love of us all. It was quite beautiful to see them together."
And so we plunge on day after day, the rain nearly flooding us out of camp. Will the ladies in the hills make us some flannel shirts?
"The soldiers bear up like men, but the constant state of wet is no small addition to what they have to endure from heat, hard work, and fighting. I know by experience what a comfort a dry flannel shirt is.
"July 12th.—Three hundred of my new regiment arrive; very fine-looking fellows, most of them. I am getting quite a little army under me, what with the Guides and my own men. Would to Heaven they would give us something more to do than this desultory warfare, which destroys our best men, and brings us no whit nearer Delhi, and removes the end of the campaign to an indefinite period."
Another fight this 14th July, one of the sharpest we have yet had, and we who have to lead were obliged to expose ourselves, but really not more than we could help; and how the papers can have got hold of this wound story I can't think, for I didn't tell it even to you. The facts are thus:—
"A rascally Pandy made a thrust at my horse, which I parried, when he seized his 'tulwar' in both hands, bringing it down like a sledge-hammer; it caught on the iron of my antigropelos legging, which it broke into the skin, cut through the stirrup-leather, and took a slice off my boot and stocking; and yet, wonderful to say, the sword did not penetrate the skin. Both my horse and myself were staggered by the force of the blow, but I recovered myself quickly, and I don't think that Pandy will ever raise his 'tulwar' again."
But, to show you that I did no more than was necessary, I must tell you what Chamberlain had to do, who led in another part.