We sent on two horses, and, after luncheon, borrowed a buggy—for it had come on to rain outrageously—and drove to camp. The fields where the camp was set up were a sea of mud, and as evening was coming on we struggled into our tent, where we were very uncomfortable indeed. There was nothing to eat or drink; the earth steamed up, and we sat on our beds, drenched as if in a vapour bath. Insects of all sorts were attracted by our light, and either dashed into the flame, or singed their wings and fell on the table. All the noises of the rains were present: frogs and earth-cricketswith, at intervals, the splashing of showers and bubbling of water-courses. Bews and I were laughing at our plight, when I heard my name called. It was Lynch, an officer I had known in the hills. By rapid travelling he had just managed to catch the advance, and he was accompanied by another officer, named Sheehy. They had got leave to march with the force, but no sort of arrangements could be made for them, and so, portmanteaux in hand, they had come to ask for shelter. Four men in a sergeant's "paul" is close packing; but Bews and I said: "If you can put up with the space, you are welcome to it." They would have slept under a parasol, and were quite satisfied. But the night was wretched. When the bugle sounded at two in the morning the idea of any change was a relief.

V

HAVELOCK'S ADVANCE

THE depression of the night wore off when one was in the saddle again, and as the rain had ceased, and the air was pleasant, by the time the bugle sounded for a halt for "little breakfast," we were all in high spirits. The camp was in a garden of trees, and it was bright and dry, and the soldiers seemed very happy, though they would go out without any covering on their heads, and chose to look on the sunshine as indicative of agreeable haymaking weather in England. I had to assist, of course, as much as possible, in getting up a bazaar for the camp followers, as soon as we reached an encampment; and the difficulty was to prevent the grain and sweetmeat sellers being looted the moment they arrived. However, some help was forthcoming; one or two men had joined as adventurers, thinking there might be posts to fill up if we got settled at Cawnpore. A tall, handsome sowar, who looked very unlikely to be loyal, was attached to my fortunes by Chester, and a very nice young Mussulman, who, by his manners, I should think was of good birth, came to me the first evening in camp, and remained till he met a horrible death a week or two afterwards. Also a capital table-servant volunteered. These little points are mentioned because it never can be remembered sufficiently in the East how the

general mind is affected by disaster or success. A defeatand everyone deserts; a victory-and all throng to congratulate and support.

At first we marched rather slowly, and there was one very sad point about the whole expedition. Sir John Kaye has thus expressed it: "It was a grand movement in advance; but, like many of our grand movements, the heart-breaking words 'too late' were written in characters of darkest night across it." We had, indeed, left General Neill at Allahabad, refusing to believe that Cawnpore was lost. But Havelock knew better. On the 12th of July we started very early-indeed, soon after midnight of the 11th-and presently we came up with Renaud's detachment. The men were drawn up along the side of the road. I remember being struck, in the moonlight, with the yellow colours of the Sikhs. Then we all marched on together, and at last halted a little short of Futtehpore.1 Barrow had a wonderful Madras servant, who was a good rider, and stayed near him on a spare horse. This man kept a small kettle and teapot slung by him, and sugar and milk in bottles in his cummerbund, or waistband, and was game to make tea in no time. He dismounted and made a fire. Willock, of my service, had gone on with Renaud, and, as we had never met, we were making acquaintance. As we were standing together, General Havelock went by-the erect, slight figure, handsome features, grey hair, with the white covered and curtained cap, and the easy seat on the natty Arab-a vignette very familiar to us all afterwards. I think we had got the tea, when bang went a gun, and

1 Col. Barrow commanded Havelock's handful of Cavalry. He kindly allowed me to join the Mess.

certainly not very far off. There was a complete transformation scene in a moment. Barrow hurried off to the head of his Cavalry, and we saw the Infantry being collected and led straight on ahead, and the guns, eight in number, pushed forward. There were two officers with whom I often found myself-Dr. Domenichetti, in charge of medical stores, and Sibley, an old officer of the 64th, who had grown grey in long regimental service, was, perhaps, of West Indian extraction, and may be called, par excellence, “the Old Campaigner." He had charge of the Military Treasure Chest. We heard our guns opening, got on our horses, and proceeded along the road. As we went along we came to the dismounted gun at the culvert, and presently to the dead elephant-the results of Maude's two first shots-now historical!

One of our tent companions, Sheehy, was acting as Aidede-Camp for that morning, and came and told me the General wanted to ask me some questions. So I rode up and told him what the town was like inside, and as he passed into a field near the garden walls skirting the suburbs, I went too, and with me my bearded sowar, Azim Ali.

The General was apparently recognised, for some people behind the walls were plainly taking shots at him. Azim, who was close to me, said, in an undertone:

"Yih achcha jagah nahin!” (This is not a suitable place!)

The remembrance of this afterwards made one laugh very much, and in subsequent adventures, when matters occasionally got awkward, the phrase recurred,—"Yih achcha jagah nahin!" The enemy made no stand whatever, and

really behaved like poltroons; but they were taken by surprise, which perhaps shows that they were not always much helped by the villagers. For they ought to have known exactly where Havelock was. Notwithstanding the barricade, the Sepoys all cleared out of the streets, our troops marched right through, and the camp was set up on the Cawnpore side. I rode through my own little town, and laughed at some pottering improvements which had been thought of, and which seemed such rubbish now. Moreover, they called to mind what I had said to Hikmut Oollah, the Deputy-Collector, that I was going "on a month's leave." I had kept my time very fairly. Here, perhaps, one word about this unfortunate man may be permitted. I see in Kaye's History that, on Joseph's evidence, I accused him of being an active partaker in the murder of poor Mr. Robert Tucker. I was afterwards at his trial, and think it exceedingly unlikely, both from his craven demeanour on that occasion, and from the testimony adduced, that he ever took a prominent part in any active proceedings against the British. He was thoroughly disloyal, and in one of his letters to the Nana, as far as I remember, expressed regret that he should have violated his conscience (iman) by serving the English, an odd statement for one of the elect to make to an idolater; but for acts of boldness, daring, or cruelty, he was constitutionally unfit. He died in prison of a collapse of mind and body not long after his case was decided. There was hardly a person in the town. One young fellow, a jogee or mendicant devotee by profession, was under the preposterous idea that our soldiers would be interested in his religious freedom from partisanship. I tried to get him away, but he