Sir E. Campbell arrived here to-day by mail-cart, and will be a valuable addition to the 60th, or he will belie his descent from the Bourbons and Fitzgeralds. He is a man you can always trust, which is saying something in these hard times.
July 3d.—Whatever I may have sacrificed of pride and personal feeling to a sense of duty, I shall be fully rewarded by entering Delhi at the head of the Guides. Here at least there is but one opinion on the subject. My poor gallant Guides! they have suffered severely for their fidelity to our cause, above a fourth of the whole having been killed or wounded, including some of our best men. Koor Singh, the little Goorkha Subadar who won the Order of Merit in that stiff affair at Boree in '53, is gone, and others whom we could ill afford to lose, now that so much depends on the fidelity of the native officers,—the Guides more than all. Surely, then, I am right, knowing and feeling that my influence with them is so great, to sink every personal consideration before the one great end of public safety, which implies that of ourselves and those dear to us. If we fail here at Delhi, not a soul in the Punjaub or Upper Provinces would be safe for a day.
July 5th.—It was impossible for me to write by yesterday's dâk, for the rebels got into our rear during the night of the 3d, and attacked Alipoor, the first stage from hence on the Kurnâl road. I was out reconnoitring, and saw them moving out some five miles on our right. I reported their position at 7 p. m. on the 3d, but not until 3 a. m. of the 4th were any measures taken, by which time, of course, they had attained their end, and were in full march back to Delhi. At daybreak yesterday I pointed out their exact whereabouts to Coke, (who commanded the party sent to attack them,) and I did not get back to camp till 8 p. m.; a hard day's work, especially as I had no breakfast, nor indeed food of any kind, and hunger makes the heat tell.
We beat 5,000 of the rebels in the morning, and were twice attacked by upwards of 3,000 in the course of the day. I took the Guides in pursuit (as soon as our guns had driven the enemy from their position), and drove them into a village. Unfortunately we did not do half as well as we ought, for though Coke is a good commandant of a regiment, and a good man for the frontiers, he is no general, and did not manage well, or we should have cut up numbers of the enemy and taken their guns.
Our loss was about thirty or forty Europeans, and three of my native officers temporarily disabled. Both men and horses were terribly knocked up towards the end of the day, and could hardly crawl back to camp, and no wonder. I was mercifully preserved, though I am sorry to say my gallant "Feroza" was badly wounded twice with sabre cuts, and part of his bridle cut through, and a piece of my glove shaved off, so it was rather close work. My men, who were most engaged of all, escaped with the loss of one killed and six wounded, and six horses put hors de combat. I am dissatisfied with the day's work, inasmuch as more might have been done, and what was done is only satisfactory as a proof of the ease with which Anglo-Saxons can thrash Asiatics at any odds. Yesterday they were at least from ten to fifteen to one against us. To-day General Barnard has been attacked with cholera, I grieve to say; and Colonel Welchman is very ill indeed. The doctors dread erysipelas, which at his age would be serious; beyond this, the wounded are generally doing well.
July 6th.—Poor General Barnard died last night, and was buried this morning. He sank rapidly, for anxiety, worry, over-exertion, and heat had prepared his system, and it was impossible for him to bear up against the virulence of cholera. Personally, I am much grieved, for no kinder or more considerate or more 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.
I have just seen a copy of a very strong minute anent the Bhágput affair, which shows the General was not disposed to pass it over lightly. The civil authorities, however, are determined to support ——, though in camp there is but one opinion of his conduct. The present state of things is terrible, enough to fret one to death,—no head, no brains, no decision. Neville Chamberlain, though of decided excellence as a man of action, is, I begin to fear, but a poor man of business. Prompt decision in council is what we want; there is no lack of vigorous action. There are plenty to obey; but we want some one to command. We have seen nothing of the enemy outside the walls since the 4th. I am worked off my legs all the same, and the day is not half long enough for what I have to do. To make matters worse, too, poor Macdowell is down with fever: a sad loss just now to "Hodson's Horse," as they call my growing corps. I am sadly off for clothes, as we of course are only too glad to help the poor refugees who come into camp with none.
July 8th.—We left camp at 2 a. m. with a considerable force, and marched to a bridge some ten miles off, which we blew up to prevent the enemy annoying us, and then marched back again. I tried hard to induce Chamberlain, who commanded, to march back by another road, which I had reconnoitred, and which would have brought us close along the rear and flank of the enemy, but he would not do so, though admitting that I was right. We have had eleven hours in the saddle and in the sun, merely for this trifling gain. My face is like "General Gascoigne's," and my hands perfectly skinless. I must get some dogskin gloves, for it is as much as I can do to hold a sword, much less a pen. There has been no fighting since the 4th, and my news-writers from the city speak of much disheartenment, and symptoms of a break-up; but I doubt this latter being more than a report, while the enemy are so well provided both with "matériel" and "personnel."
I have just returned from a long chase after a party of the enemy's horse, safe and unhurt, but drenched to the skin by a cataract of rain. There has been some hard fighting to-day. The 8th Irregulars from Bareilly came into our camp, thanks to the defection of a party of the 9th Irregular Cavalry, who were on picket duty. The rascals consequently were enabled to get into our very lines, and cut down one officer at his guns. There was a tremendous row and confusion for a short time, but we soon put it to rights. I had warned the authorities repeatedly, that the Irregulars were not to be trusted, but they were too fainthearted or "merciful" (Heaven forgive me for using such a word about such villains) to disarm them, and both the regiments, about which I reported, have since gone wrong.
July 10th.—We are nearly flooded out of camp by the rain, and everything is wet and wretched but ourselves. I have no respite from work, however, and have only time to say that the ladies in the hills could not employ themselves better or in a greater work of charity than in making flannel shirts for the soldiers, for our stores are either in the enemy's hands or not come-at-able. 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 hard fighting. I know by experience what a comfort a dry flannel shirt is.