egiment at this time mustered nearly 1,000 men, half that number
old and gallant veterans of from ten to twenty years' service. These
had fought in many Indian campaigns, and on the terrible day of
Chillianwalla, in January, 1849, when the Khalsa army rolled back in
utter defeat a portion of Lord Gough's force, had, under the leadership
of Sir Colin Campbell, altered the fortunes of the battle. Advancing
in line under a tremendous cannonade, and without firing a shot, they
marched as if on parade and in stern silence till within fifty yards
of the Sikh batteries, when, with a shout which struck terror into the
breasts of their enemies, they charged irresistibly and took the guns.

It was to men such as these that, fortunately for the maintenance of our
Empire in the East, England trusted in the perilous days of 1857. As
of my own regiment, so it may be said of all then quartered in
India--sturdy, fine fellows, of good physique, of rare discipline, and
inured to the climate, who, in the words of the Iron Duke, could march
anywhere and fight anything. The army then had not been improved out
of existence; reforms, if such they can be called, were received with
considerable disfavour; for what amelioration could be effected in the
discipline and steady courage of those who had stormed the heights of
the Alma, had stood the shock of the Muscovite at Inkerman, and had not
despaired on the bloody fields of Ferozeshah and Chillianwalla?

I may be excused if I thus energetically offer my tribute of praise to
that army, and more especially to that regiment in which I passed my
young days. I recall the numberless acts of devotion and courage, the
tender solicitude with which the veterans of the Grenadier Company
looked after the safety of their youthful commander, during the
campaigns of 1857; and my pen falters and my eyes grow dim with tears as
memory brings before me my gallant comrades in the ranks who fell before
Delhi, or lost their lives through disease and exposure.

I had been absent from my regiment during the whole of 1856, doing duty
at the Murree Convalescent Depot, and rejoined in March of the following
year. Nothing occurred for the next two months to break the monotony of
life in an Indian cantonment. Parade in the early morning, rackets and
billiards during the day, a drive or ride along the Mall in the cool of
the evening, and the usual mess dinner--these constituted the routine of
our uneventful existence.

M