charger outside the gate of the
Secundrabagh, and called out: "We are in possession of the bungalows,
sir. I have killed the last two of the enemy with my own hand, and here
is one of their colours," "D--n your colours, sir!" said Sir Colin.
"It's not your place to be taking colours; go back to your regiment this
instant, sir!" However, the officers of the staff who were with Sir
Colin gave a cheer for Colonel Ewart, and one of them presented him with
a cap to cover his head, which was still bare. He turned back,
apparently very much upset at the reception given to him by the old
Chief; but I afterwards heard that Sir Colin sent for him in the
afternoon, apologised for his rudeness, and thanked him for his
services. Before I conclude, I may remark that I have often thought over
this incident, and the more I think of it, the more I am convinced that,
from the wild and excited appearance of Colonel Ewart, who had been by
that time more than an hour without his hat in the fierce rays of the
sun, covered with blood and powder smoke, and his eyes still flashing
with the excitement of the fight, giving him the appearance of a man
under the influence of something more potent than "blue ribbon"
tipple--I feel pretty sure, I say, that, when Sir Colin first saw him,
he thought he was drunk. When he found out his mistake he was of course
sorry for his rudeness.

After the capture of the Shah Nujeef, a field officer was required to
hold the barracks, which was one of the most important posts on our left
advance, and although severely wounded, having several sabre-cuts and
many bruises on his body, Colonel Ewart volunteered for the post of
commandant of the force. This post he held until the night of the
evacuation of the Residency and the retreat from Lucknow, for the
purpose of relieving Cawnpore for the second time from the grasp of the
Nana Sahib and the Gwalior Contingent. It was at the retaking of
Cawnpore that Colonel Ewart eventually had his arm carried off by a
cannon-shot; and the last time I saw him was when I assisted to lift him
into a _dooly_ on the plain of Cawnpore on the 1st of December, 1857.
But I must leave the retaking of Cawnpore to its proper place in these
reminiscences, and resume my narrative of the capture of the
Secundrabagh.

I mentioned previously that the muster-rolls had scarcely been called
outside the gateway, when the enemy evidently became aware that the
place was no longer held for them by livi