At this juncture, when victory seemed to be decided for the British, Tej Singh, the commander-in-chief of the Sikh army, suddenly appeared on the field with his army of reserve, consisting of 30,000 men, and a large park of light guns. He charged into the midst of the British troops, and attempted to recover the entrenchment, but without success. He then opened a fire upon us from his guns, but, unhappily, all our shot were expended. It was one of those unexpected cases which demand the greatest promptitude and judgment; and our artillery are said to have fired blank ammunition.[15]

The British cavalry had been ordered by a certain staff officer, in the Adjutant-General's department, to move off to Ferozepore. This, I suppose, must have been before Tej Singh came up. It is also reported that Tej Singh conceived that this move was made in connection with some deeply concerted plan, with the intention of getting into his rear. Whatever may have been his opinion, he contented himself with firing a few shots from his light guns—none other had he—by which a few of the British were killed and wounded. Had the cavalry not been ordered off, the whole of which, I understand, moved away, with the exception of that noble regiment the 3rd Light Dragoons, who had previously, in this same action, performed prodigies of valour in charging batteries and entrenchments,—acts unparalleled in cavalry tactics,—Tej Singh might have been attacked to advantage. Thus much is certain; that the officer above alluded to was allowed to retire from the service. The whole affair of the morning of the 22nd cannot be either unravelled or explained; and I have discussed the matter with many officers who were present on that occasion, but have never met with one who could solve its mysteries. It savours more of romance than of reality. "Truth is strange—stranger than fiction." Goolab Singh, now Maharajah of Cashmere, speaking to a European officer, of Tej Singh's advance, as above described, observed that: "Tej Singh committed a great blunder; he should never have gone near you, but should have marched at once upon Delhi!"

Many, however, are of opinion, that the sudden attack of Tej Singh, with his 30,000 troops, was a mere feint. It was well known that he was in correspondence with Captain Nicolson; and it is even affirmed, that he had privately furnished an officer with a plan of the intended operations of the Sikh army. It was his object to ingratiate himself with both parties. His position as leader of the army demanded that he should make the attack; while at the same time he foresaw that the British would ultimately triumph in the Punjaub, and that it would be for his interest to make friends of them. Therefore, after firing a few shots, the Commander-in-Chief of the Sikhs fled from the field of battle, at the very moment when the failure of the enemy's ammunition, and the departure of their cavalry to Ferozepore, gave him an advantage which might have turned the tide of victory in his favour. After the desertion of their general, the Sikhs made several ineffectual attempts, to recover the entrenchment, but before night-fall, were compelled to retreat across the Sutlej.

The view of a field of battle awakens the noblest sympathies of our nature. Even the stern Napoleon has had his cold heart touched by such a scene. The first survey is overwhelming; and the heart of even the stoutest soldier shrinks within him, and sickens at the sight. On a nearer inspection, we find the dead and the dying, friend and foe, lying side by side; their furious contest suddenly cut short by the cold hand of death—while the cries and moans of the wounded till our ears with sounds of lamentation and woe, and our hearts with pity and commiseration.

We lament the fate of the slain, and grieve that his career is ended; yet it is the death of the brave soldier who has gloriously discharged his duty to his country, and whose fame remains imperishable, that calls forth our deepest grief, admiration and gratitude. "Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori." Well did Lord Hutchinson, in reporting the death of the brave and lamented Abercrombie, express the feelings of a soldier, when he said: "His name shall be embalmed in the memory of a grateful country."

Thoughts of a future state are powerfully impressed upon the mind, as the eye wanders over the battle-field of the slain. As we gaze upon those who have distinguished themselves, not only as the liege soldiers of their king, but as the faithful soldiers of the King of kings, our heart insensibly finds relief. While the spark of life yet flickers in the mortal tenement, we watch by the side of our wounded comrade, and, like king David, we fast and weep, and say: "Who can tell whether God will be gracious to me that he may live;" but when the dread fiat has gone forth, and the spirit no longer dwells within its house of clay, like David we restrain our grief, and looking beyond the grave, exclaim in faith: "Wherefore should I weep? Can I bring him back again? I shall go to him, but he shall not return to me."

Before quitting the field of slaughter, I would make a few remarks respecting the wounded. The fate of the private soldier is often very hard: by the loss of limbs he is rendered useless for life as a soldier, his means of subsistence are curtailed, and what is yet dearer to him, his military career is blighted for ever. The officer may do duty again if he lose an arm, or what is almost the same thing, if he be wounded and unable to have the ball extracted. This was the case with my father, who, having been hit in both shoulders at the battle of Waterloo, did duty in his most gallant regiment the old 95th, now the Rifle Brigade, for nearly three years after, although, as the ball remained in the shoulder, the left arm was rendered useless.[16] Some officers even continue in the service after they have lost a leg, and receive a good pension. This is the case with Field-Marshal the Marquis of Anglesey.

The disabled rank and file are what is styled "invalided," that is to say, they are sent to England and elsewhere, where they obtain a pension, fixed and determined by a board of officers.

The late Queen's Inspector-General of Hospitals in Bengal, states a fact which ought to be generally known, "The number of those who are wounded and die in consequence, cannot be ascertained fully under the lapse of a year, because there are cases in which a gun-shot through the lungs has superinduced affections of the brain, fevers, etc." It is likewise worthy of remark that gun-shot wounds are more dangerous than sabre cuts.

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