d been
successfully carried out in the face of 50,000 of the enemy along a
most inconveniently narrow and tortuous lane--the only line of retreat
open.

The following morning Hope Grant's division marched to the Alambagh.
On arrival there, our transport was sent back for Outram's division,
which joined us the morning after, bringing with it General Havelock's
dead body. He had died the previous day--'a martyr to duty,' as the
Commander-in-Chief expressed it in his General Order. The brave old
soldier, who had served with distinction in four campaigns before the
Mutiny--Burma, Afghanistan, Gwalior, and the Sutlej--was buried inside
the Alambagh enclosure, respected and honoured by the whole army, but
more especially by those who had shared in his noble efforts to rescue
the Lucknow garrison.

A wash and change of clothes, in which we were now able to indulge,
were much-appreciated luxuries. From the time we had left the Alambagh
every officer and man had been on duty without cessation, and slept,
if they slept at all, on the spot where the close of day found them
fighting.

It was a rough experience, but, notwithstanding the exposure, hard
work, and a minimum of sleep, there was no great sickness amongst the
troops. The personal interest which every man in the force felt in
the rescue of his countrymen and countrywomen, in addition to the
excitement at all times inseparable from war, was a stimulant
which enabled all ranks to bear up in a marvellous manner against
long-continued privations and hardships--for body and mind are equally
affected by will--and there was no doubt about the will in this
instance to endure anything that was necessary for the speedy
achievement of the object in view. Personally, I was in the best
of health, and though I almost lived on horseback, I never felt
inconvenience or fatigue.

The 25th and 26th were busy days, spent in allotting camp equipage
and making the necessary arrangements for fitting out Outram's
force--4,000 strong, with 25 guns and howitzers and 10 mortars.

At 11 a.m. on the 27th we started on our return march towards
Cawnpore.[1] It was a strange procession. Everything in the shape of
wheeled carriage and laden animals had to keep to the road, which was
narrow, and for the greater part of the way raised, for the country
at that time of the year was partly under water, and _jhils_ were
numerous. Thus, the column was about twelve miles in length, so that
the head had al