On the 21st October we reached Bewar, the junction of the roads from
Meerut, Agra, Fatehgarh, and Cawnpore, at which point the Brigadier
received a communication from Sir James Outram, written in Greek
character, from the Lucknow Residency, begging that aid might be sent
as soon as possible, as provisions were running short.[1] The note was
rolled up inside a quill, which the Native messenger had cunningly
concealed in the heart of his thick walking-stick. Outram's urgent
summons determined the Brigadier to push on. So the next day we made
a march of twenty-eight miles to Goorsahaigunj, and on the 23rd we
reached Miran-ki-Serai, close to the ruined Hindu city of Kanoj.

The same day I went on as usual with a small escort to reconnoitre,
and had passed through the town, when I was fired upon by a party of
the rebels, consisting of some 300 Cavalry, 500 Infantry, and four
guns, who, having heard of the approach of the column, were trying to
get away before it arrived. Their Cavalry and Infantry were on the
opposite bank of a fairly wide stream, called the Kali Naddi, through
which were being dragged some heavy pieces of cannon. I retired
a short distance, and sent back word to the advance guard, which
hastened to my assistance. A few rounds from our Artillery caused the
enemy to abandon their guns, the Infantry dispersed and disappeared,
the Cavalry fled, and we, crossing the stream, had a smart gallop
after them for about four miles over a fine grassy plain. On we flew,
Probyn's and Watson's squadrons leading the way in parallel lines,
about a mile apart. I was with the latter, and we had a running fight
till we reached the Ganges, into which plunged those of the _sowars_
whom we had not been able to overtake; we reined up, and saw the
unlucky fugitives struggling in the water, men and horses rolling over
each other; they were gradually carried down by the swiftly running
stream, and but a very few reached the opposite bank.

Our casualties were trifling, only some half-dozen men wounded, while
my horse got a gash on his quarter from a sabre. Watson had the
forefinger of his right hand badly cut in an encounter with a young
_sowar_; I chaffed him at allowing himself to be nearly cut down by a
mere boy, upon which he laughingly retorted: 'Well, boy or not, he was
bigger than you.'

It was on this occasion that I first recognized the advantage of
having the carbine slung on the trooper's back while in action,
instea