ling on the Sikhs to aid us in our trouble. They came
at once in hundreds--nay, thousands--to enlist on our side. Veterans of
Runjeet Singh's Khalsa army, the men who had withstood us on equal terms
in many sanguinary battles, animated by intense hatred of the Poorbeah
sepoy, enrolled themselves in the ranks of the British army, and fought
faithfully for us to the end of the war. Their help was our safety;
without these soldiers, and the assistance rendered by their chieftains,
Delhi could never have been taken; while, on the other hand, had they
risen and cast in their lot with the mutinous sepoys, no power on earth
could have saved us from total annihilation.

The Sikhs are the beau-ideal of soldiers. Tall and erect in bearing,
wiry and well-knit, and of great muscular development, their whole
appearance stamps them as men who look upon themselves as "lords of the
soil," whom it would be difficult to conquer. And without doubt the
campaigns of 1845-46 and 1848-49 were the hardest in which we had been
engaged in India.

For 100 years they had dominated the land of the Five Rivers. Ever eager
for war, their turbulent spirits gave them no rest. It had been a belief
that they would in the future acquire the sovereignty of Hindostan, and
I know for certain that among the soldiers for many years there had been
a tradition that one day they would sack the imperial city of Delhi.

The latter expectation was in a manner fulfilled; but not as an
independent nation or under their own leaders did they capture and
plunder the Mohammedan capital: they accomplished that feat as loyal
subjects of the British Crown.

Every now and then news reached us of the spread of the Mutiny, till
from Calcutta to Peshawar there were few stations where the native
troops had not joined in the rebellion. Cavalry, infantry, and
artillery, all had risen in revolt. The wave of mutiny was surging to
and fro throughout the land, and as yet little had been done to stem the
tide. True, a small force was being assembled at Umballah, which, under
the Commander-in-Chief, was about to march to Delhi, but of the doings
of that army we could learn no satisfactory tidings.

The closing days of the month of May passed wearily by, and time hung
heavily on our hands. We felt the inevitable reaction from the first few
days of excitement, and also missed the comforts and ease to which we
had been accustomed in former hot seasons. The barracks were close and
stuff