e, the occupant of another dhoolie, which
was presently placed by his, turned out to be his brother Charles,
whose arm had been shattered. The two had met again for the last time.

From the field hospital Nicholson was shortly after conveyed to the
Ridge, where nothing was left undone that could ease his suffering.
Medical skill, however, was unavailing; he lingered until the 23rd of
the month, and then passed peacefully away.

Of Nicholson's last moments Neville Chamberlain, who was constantly by
his bedside, has written in touching words. He himself had lost a
devoted friend who could never be replaced. In the camp the news that
Nicholson was gone was received with universal sorrow. It was felt
that by his death the army on the Ridge had been suddenly deprived of
the one strong man to whom everybody had instinctively turned for
advice and encouragement, and who could least be spared. There was a
sense of injustice, too. Delhi had fallen, but--John Nicholson, struck
down in the hour of victory, was not there to share in the triumph.

The funeral of the dead hero took place on the following day. He was
buried in a newly made cemetery not far from the Cashmere Gate and the
breach through which he had led the storming party, a fitting spot
truly for his resting-place. Among those who paid their last respects
to him were the men of the Mooltani Horse, who had followed Nicholson
from the Punjaub to Delhi. Their grief was unrestrained, sirdars and
troopers mingling their tears as the body of their beloved "Nikalseyn
sahib" was lowered into the grave.

Of the strange sect that had worshipped him as a god it is recorded
that on Nicholson's death becoming known, the two head-men of the tribe
committed suicide, declaring that life was no longer worth living. The
rest, however, decided that their dead master would not have approved
of such a course, and announced their resolve to worship in future the
God of whom he had often spoken to them; whereupon they went to
Peshawur in a body and became Christians.

After Nicholson's death the tributes of praise accorded him were many
and widespread. In every part of India and in Great Britain his early
demise--he was but thirty-five--created a feeling of a national loss.
The _London Gazette_ soon afterwards announced that had he lived he
would have been made a K.C.B.; while, for their part, the East India
Company, in whose service he had laboured so well, marked their
reco