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“Our sentries often fraternized with the Russian sentries. A few nights ago our men saw some Russian soldiers coming towards them without arms, and they supposed them to be deserters; but, on coming nearer, they made signs that they wanted a light for their pipes, and then they stayed a few minutes, talking. First Russian: ‘Englise bono!’ First Englishman: ‘Ruskie bono!’ Second Russian: ‘Oslem no bono!’ Second Englishman: ‘Ah, Turk no bono!’ pretending to run away as if frightened, upon which all the party go into roars of laughter, and then, after shaking hands, they retire to their respective beats, ready for the bloody work of war.”

From Sir W. Howard Russell’s “Letters from the Crimea.” By kind permission of Messrs. George Routledge and Sons, Ltd.

CHAPTER IX
AFTER INKERMANN (1854-55)

Valiant deeds – Lord Raglan under fire – Tryon the best shot – A Prince’s button – A cold Christmas – Savage horses – The Mamelon redoubt – Corporal Quin – Colonel Zea.

The Battle of Inkermann was fought on the 5th of November, 1854, in a thick fog. It began very early in the morning with a surprise, and developed into a series of desperate deeds of daring, of hand-to-hand fights, of despairing rallies, of desperate assaults in glen and valley, in brushwood glades and remote dells. At six o’clock in the morning our men of the Second Division were roused by their tents being ripped to pieces by Russian shells. In darkness, gloom, and rain the British troops sallied forth to meet the foe – with the bayonet if they could.

Many valiant deeds were done. Some were noted, many were unmarked. Lieutenant Crosse was surrounded by Russians, who attacked him with the bayonet, though he was badly wounded. He shot two with his revolver. Then a private, running up to help him, shot another, bayonetted the fourth, and carried the Lieutenant away in his arms.

MacGrath was captured by two Russians, but while they were leading him away he seized the firelock of one of them, shot the Russian, and dashed out the brains of the other.

Burke was surrounded just as a ball broke his jawbone. He rushed amongst his enemies, shot three dead with his revolver, and cut two men down with his sword. He fell at last with more than thirty wounds in his body.

When Sir George Cathcart was shot and our men were retiring, Colonel Seymour, of the Guards, a dear friend who had served with him through the campaign in Kaffirland, rushed forward to help him, and in so doing was shot through the leg.

“Come back, Colonel!” the men shouted as they swept past the two officers.

“No, no; my place is here with Sir George,” replied Seymour.

“You must leave him,” cried General Torrens; “the enemy are close at hand. You will be killed, man!”

But nothing could persuade the Colonel to leave the side of his dying chief. There he remained, alone against the rushing tide of battle, and met a hero’s death in endeavouring to protect his friend from insult and mutilation.

When, later in the day, some of the French troops were seen to retire before the impetuous onslaught of the Russian masses, Lord Raglan despatched an aide-de-camp to General Pennefather, who was near the French division, to ask how he was getting on.

The General sent word in reply that he could hold his own perfectly well, and that he thought the enemy looked like retiring.

“If I can be reinforced with fresh troops, I will follow the Russians up and lick them to the devil.”

Lord Raglan was so delighted with this spirited answer that he galloped over to the French General Canrobert and translated General Pennefather’s words literally to him.

“Jusqu’au diable, Général!” That was what he said.

Canrobert, who had just remounted his horse, after having his arm bound up, exclaimed: “Ah! quel brave garçon! quel brave homme! quel bon Général!”

The day ended with a great artillery duel, in which Colonel Dickson won great renown, and mowed down great lanes through the massed forces opposed to him, until they broke and fled.

Captain Peel, of H.M.S. Diamond, greatly distinguished himself for his marvellous sang-froid in action. A shell fell close to a gun which he was laying in the trenches. Instead of running to take cover, he picked up the shell and lifted it over the parapet. The shell exploded just after it left his hands, and did no damage, whereas had it burst on the spot where it fell, probably many men would have been killed and wounded.

A private of the 33rd (Duke of Wellington’s) Regiment was surprised and made prisoner by two Russian soldiers when an advanced sentry. One of the Russians took possession of his musket and the other of his pouch, and they marched him between them towards Sebastopol. It was not the direction which Tommy wanted to take, so he kept wary watch, and when he fancied his captors were off their guard, he sprang on the one who carried his musket, seized it, knocked the fellow down, and then shot dead the Russian who carried his pouch. Meanwhile the Ruskie from whom Tommy had taken his own musket rose up from his recumbent position, fired and missed his aim. Tommy promptly hit him on the head with the butt end of his musket. After this the Englishman proceeded at leisure to take off his foes’ accoutrements, and he returned to his post laden with spoils, being fired at by the Russian sentries and cheered loudly by the English pickets.

But Lord Raglan himself gave several instances of great coolness under fire. He was sitting on horseback during the Battle of Inkermann, in the midst of a battery of artillery, watching our men working the guns. A very heavy fire was being directed against this part of the field, and one of his staff suggested the propriety of his not putting himself in quite so dangerous and conspicuous a place, especially as, from the number of bullets that came singing by, it was clear he was being made a mark for the enemy’s riflemen.

Lord Raglan, however, merely said: “Yes, they seem firing at us a little; but I think I get a better view here than in most places.”

So there he remained for some time, and then, turning his horse, rode along the whole length of the ridge at a foot’s pace. Some of the hangers-on about the staff found they had business elsewhere, and cantered unobtrusively away.

Towards evening of the same day Lord Raglan was returning from taking his last leave of General Strangways, who had been mortally wounded, and was riding up towards the ridge. A sergeant of the 7th Fusiliers approached, carrying canteens of water to take up for the wounded. As Lord Raglan passed, he drew himself up to make the usual salute, when a round shot came bounding over the hill and knocked his forage-cap off his head.

The man calmly picked up his cap, dusted it on his knee, placed it carefully on his head, and then made the military salute, all without moving a muscle of his countenance. Lord Raglan was delighted with the sergeant’s coolness, and, smiling, said to him: “A near thing that, my man!”

“Yes, my lord,” replied the sergeant, with another salute; “but a miss is as good as a mile.”

One of the most painful things during the battle was the number of wounded horses. Some of the poor creatures went grazing about the fields, limping on three legs, one, perhaps, having been broken or carried away by a shot. Others were galloping about wildly, screaming with terror and fright. At times two or three horses would attach themselves to the staff, as if desirous of company or for human protection. One poor beast, who had its nose and mouth shot away, used to edge in amongst the staff and rub its gory head against their horses’ flanks. He was at last ordered to be put out of his pain, being in this more fortunate than many poor soldiers, who lay out for several nights in their agony.

It was a day or two after that the best shot in the British Army was killed. Lieutenant Tryon, of the Rifle Brigade, was shot through the head when in the act of firing at the retreating Russians. He was a great loss, much beloved by his men. It is stated that he had himself killed over a hundred Russians. At the Battle of Inkermann he employed himself the whole day in firing at the Russian artillerymen. He had two of his men to load for him, and they say that he knocked over thirty Russians, besides wounding several more.

General Canrobert issued a general order eulogizing the conduct of our Rifles, and lamenting in just terms the death of Lieutenant Tryon.

This must be the first occasion on record of a French General particularizing the bravery of a British officer of Tryon’s rank.

There is a story told which proves that Russian Generals were not dead to a sense of humour.

A Mr. C – , an officer in an English regiment, was taken prisoner in a sortie of the Russians, and was sent on to Simferopol. A day or two after his arrival there he received some letters from England which had been sent in with a flag of truce. One of these letters was from a young lady who was engaged to Mr. C – . In this letter she wrote:

“I hope, dearest, that if you take Prince Menchikoff prisoner, you will cut a button off his coat and send it to me in a letter, as you know how fond I am of relics.”

All these letters had been opened and translated at the Russian headquarters, as is usual. Prince Menchikoff was shown this letter, which amused him not a little; so he wrote to Mr. C – , saying how much he regretted he was unable to pose as a prisoner, when it was the other way about; but he had much pleasure in sending him the enclosed button off his best coat, which he trusted Mr. C – would forward to the young lady with his compliments.

By December the whole army was suffering, worn out by night work, by vigil in rain and storm, by hard labour in the trenches, by cholera and short allowances. For nine days there was no issue of tea, coffee, or sugar to the troops. Food, corn, hay were stowed in sailing-vessels outside the harbour. A hurricane arose. To the bottom went provender and food for twenty days of all the horses. You could hardly tell an officer from a corporal. They were all hairy and muddy, filthy, worn, mounted on draggle-tailed ponies. Yet withal we are told they were the noblest, cheeriest, bravest fellows in Europe – ready to defy privation, neglect, storm, and wounds. Letters, it is true, sometimes came from the Crimea in which the writer showed a righteous indignation against those who mismanaged affairs and caused so much unnecessary loss and suffering. In one of these we read:

“January 2.– We have had a rough and dreary Christmas. Where are our presents? where are the fat bucks, the potted meats, the cakes, the warm clothing, the worsted devices made by the fair sympathizers at home? They may be on their way, but they will be too late. Why are our men still in tents? Where are the huts that were sent out? Some of them I have seen floating about the beach; others are being converted into firewood. There are 3,500 sick men in camp; there are 8,000 sick and wounded in the hospitals on the Bosphorus.

“Snow is on the hills, and the wind blows cold. We have no greatcoats. Our friends the Zouaves are splendid fellows, always gay, healthy, well fed. They carry loads for us, drink for us, eat for us, bake for us, forage for us – and all on the cheapest and most economical terms.

“The trenches are two and three feet deep with mud, snow, and slush. Many men, when they take off their shoes, are unable to get their swollen feet into them again. The other day I was riding through the French camp, 5th Regiment, when an officer came up and invited me to take a glass of the brandy which had been sent out by the Emperor as a Christmas gift. He had a bright wood fire burning in his snug warm pit. Our presents have so far all miscarried.

“January 19.– After frost and snow milder weather. Our warm clothing has come! Many thousands of fine coats, lined with fur and skins, have been served out to the men, together with long boots, gloves, socks, and mits.

“What a harvest Death has reaped! How many are crippled by the cold!

“January 24.– I have been viewing Sebastopol from a hill. The suburbs are in ruins. All the streets I saw had their houses broken down. Roofs, doors, and windows were all off, but the Russian riflemen shoot from them. I saw many walking from the sea with baskets of provisions. The harbour is covered with boats.

“May 18.– The Sardinians are encamped on the slopes of pleasant hills. Their tents are upheld by their lances, one at each end of the tent. Their encampment, with its waving pennons, has a very pretty effect. The Sardinians’ horses are rather leggy, but not such formidable neighbours as the horses of the 10th Hussars, which are the terror of the camp, breaking their picket-ropes and tearing about madly.

“Yesterday I was riding peaceably along with an officer of artillery and of 8th Hussars, when suddenly we heard cries of ‘Look out!’ and lo! there came a furious steed down upon us, his mane and tail erect. He had stepped out of a mob of Hussar horses to offer us battle, and rushed at full gallop towards our ponies.

“‘Out swords!’ was the word, as the interesting beast circled round us, now menacing us with his heels, now with his teeth; but he was repelled by two bright swords and one strong whip, and at last, to our relief, he caught sight of Colonel Mayo, who was then cantering by in ignorance of his danger, till he was warned by the shouts of the soldiers. The Colonel defended himself and horse with great resolution, and, drawing his sword, gave point or cut right and left as the case required, till the men of the 10th came up and beat off the creature. It is rather too exciting this hot weather to have to run the risk of being demolished by the heels of an insane Arab.

“June 7.– It has leaked out that something of import was to take place to-day. Between 5 and 6 p.m. Lord Raglan and his staff took up a conspicuous position looking straight into the teeth of the Redan. The man with the signal rockets was in attendance. About half-past six the French attacking column was seen to be climbing the arduous road to the Mamelon fort.

“The rocket was fired, and our small force rushed for the quarries to divert the Russians. The French went up the steep to the Mamelon in beautiful style and in loose order. Their figures, like light shadows flitting across the dun barrier of earthworks, were seen to mount up unfailingly in the evening light – seen running, climbing, scrambling like skirmishers up the slopes amid a plunging fire from the guns.

“As an officer who saw Bosquet wave them on said at the moment, ‘They went in like a clever pack of hounds.’ Then we see the Zouaves standing upon the parapets and firing down into the fort from above. Now they are in the heart of the Mamelon, and a fierce hand-to-hand encounter, with musket and bayonet, is evidently taking place. It was only seven minutes and a half from the commencement of the enterprise. There is still another sharp bayonet fight, and this time the Russians run out on the other side, spiking their guns. But the roar of guns is heard on the side towards the town: the Russians have been reinforced!

“When rocket after rocket went up ominously from the French General’s position we began to be nervous. It was growing darker, and the noise of the fight seemed to be on our side of the fort. At last the swell and babble of the fight once more rolled down the face of the hill. ‘They are well into it this time,’ said a General, handing over his glass to his neighbour. All was still. No more musket flashes, no more lightning of the heavy guns from the embrasures. A shapeless hump upon a hill, the Mamelon was an extinct volcano, until such time as we should please to call it again into action.

“‘How are our men getting on?’ says one.

“‘Oh, take my word for it they’re all right,’ says another.

“They were in the quarries, but had to fight all night and repel six successive attacks of the Russians, who displayed the most singular pertinacity and recklessness of life. Meanwhile the Zouaves, emboldened by success, carried their prowess too far, and dreamt of getting into the round tower by a coup de main. The fire of the musketry from the round tower was like a shelf of flame, and the shells of our gunners – for we were supporting the French – stood out dark against the heavens as they rose and swooped to their fall.

“June 9.– As an illustration of character I note that one of our sailor artillerymen, being desired to keep under cover and not put his head out to tempt a rifle bullet, grumbled at the prohibition, saying to his comrades: ‘I say, Jack, they won’t let a fellow go and look where his own shot is. We ain’t afraid, we ain’t. That’s what I call hard lines.’

“Lance-Corporal Quin, of the 47th, has been brought to notice for bravery. In one of the attacks made by the enemy on the quarries the Russians had some difficulty in bringing their men again to the scratch. At length one Russian officer succeeded in bringing on four men, which Corporal Quin perceiving, he made a dash out of the work, and with the butt-end of his musket brained one, bayoneted a second, and when the other two took to their heels he brought in the officer as a prisoner, having administered to him a gentle prick by way of quickening his movements.

“After delivering him up he said to his comrades: ‘There’s plenty more yonder, lads, if so be you’ve a mind to fetch in a prisoner or two.’

“June 20.– A plan of attack was proposed – that the French were to assault the Malakoff and we the Redan; but though they got into the Malakoff, they were driven out again, with loss. As our 37th Regiment advanced they were met by a well-aimed fire of mitraille, which threw them into disorder.

“Poor Colonel Zea in vain tried to steady them, exclaiming: ‘This will never do! Where’s the bugler to call them back?’

“But at that moment no bugler was to be found. In the gloom of early dawn the gallant old soldier by voice and gesture tried to reform his men, but as he ran to the head of the column a charge of the deadly missle passed, and he fell dead. Next day we had to ask for an armistice to bury our dead, which was not granted until 4 p.m. It was agonizing to see the wounded men who were lying out under a broiling sun, to behold them waving their caps or hands faintly towards our lines, over which they could see the white flag waving, and not to be able to help them. Many of them had lain there for thirty hours.

“As I was riding round I came upon two of our men with sad faces.

“‘What are you waiting here for?’ said I.

“‘To go out for the Colonel, sir,’ was the reply.

“‘What Colonel?’

“‘Why, Colonel Zea, to be sure, sir,’ said the good fellow, evidently surprised at my thinking there could be any other Colonel in the world.

“Ah! they liked him well. Under a brusque manner he concealed a most kind heart, and a soldier more devoted to his men and to his country never fell in battle. The Fusiliers were the first who had hospital huts. When other regiments were in need of every comfort Zea’s regiment had all that exertion and foresight could procure. I ride on, and find two Voltigeurs with a young English naval officer between them. They are taking him off to shoot him as a spy. He has not enough French to explain his position to his captors.

“‘He tells us he is an officer of the Viper, that he got into the Mamelon by mistake.’ The matter is explained to our allies, who let him go with the best grace in the world. As to the attack which failed, we are disappointed, yet we do not despair; but we learn now that we are going to attack the Redan and Malakoff by sap and mine – a tedious process of many weeks.

“September 5.– The Russians have evacuated the forts of Sebastopol and withdrawn to the north side of the harbour. The Crimean War is over!”

From Sir W. Howard Russell’s “Letters from the Crimea.” By kind permission of Messrs. George Routledge and Sons, Ltd.

CHAPTER X
THE INDIAN MUTINY – DELHI (1857-1858)

The Mutiny begins – A warning from a sepoy – A near thing – A noble act of a native officer – In camp at Delhi with no kit – A plan that failed – Our first check – Wilson in command – Seaton wounded – Arrival of Nicholson – Captures guns – The assault – The fate of the Princes – Pandy in a box.

A rumour had been going through the bazaars of India that the British rule was to be limited to one hundred years from the date of the Battle of Plassey (1757). The sepoy troops had grown self-confident and arrogant through the victories they had won under English officers, and fancied that they held the destiny of India in their own hands. Then came the story that the cartridges of the new Enfield rifles, which were just then being introduced among the native troops, were greased with fat of beef or pork, and were thus rendered unclean for Mohammedan and Hindoo alike. The sepoys, or native troops, believed that the new cartridges were being given out solely for the purpose of destroying their caste, and so of introducing Christianity by force.

Delhi, where the deposed King Bahadur Shah was living, was the centre and focus of rebellion; it was to Delhi that the first mutineers marched after killing their English officers. Sir Thomas Seaton has left us some picturesque stories of his part in the Mutiny. He had rejoined his native regiment at Rohtuck, forty-five miles from Delhi, after some years’ leave in England, and found the manners of the sepoy greatly changed for the worse. He writes:

“On the 4th of June I was in the mess-tent writing to the Adjutant-General about the hopeless state of the regiment, when the native Adjutant came in and said:

“‘Colonel, I wish particularly to speak to you.’

“It was close upon 5 p.m., and, as several officers were in the tent, I went outside with the Adjutant.

“‘Well, Shebbeare, what is it?’

“‘Why, Colonel, I have just heard from two of our drummers, who have their information from friends amongst the men, that the regiment is to mutiny to-night, murder the officers, and be off to Delhi.’

“Though I expected this, it was startling enough to hear it was so close at hand. And now that the great difficulty stared me in the face, how, with this small body of officers, was I to meet and grapple with reckless and determined mutineers? But as this was not the time to flinch or show indecision, I said:

“‘Well, Shebbeare, let me see the men. I’ll make a few inquiries first. I will go to the hospital. Do you lounge out that way too.’

“As I had been used to visit the hospital about this hour, my going there would excite no suspicion.

“In a few minutes I had found out that it was too true that an outbreak was planned for that night. Meanwhile I addressed the Adjutant:

“‘Now, Shebbeare, will you stand by me?’

“‘Yes, Colonel,’ replied the gallant fellow, ‘that I will.’

“‘Very well. Now, I’ll tell you what I propose to do. I will go on parade, and, as there is nothing like facing a difficulty, I’ll tax them with their intended outbreak, and we will see what they will do. Tell the officers to look out.’”

Seaton’s idea was that the men, finding he knew all about their plans, would be so disconcerted that they would put off the mutiny; we should probably gain a day or two of delay, and might hear that Delhi was taken or the mutineers defeated. So at sunset he went on parade, assembled the native officers in front, at some distance from their companies, and taxed them with their intended treachery. As he had expected, the sepoys were utterly confounded; they flatly denied the intended treachery, and swore by all their gods that they would be faithful to their salt, and that no harm should happen to the officers.

The native officers then begged permission to appoint a guard to keep watch in the camp at night, as there might be some badmashes in the regiment.

It was a dangerous experiment, but the only chance was to take things coolly, still seeming to trust the men, keeping at the same time a sharp look-out.

It was Seaton’s duty to keep the regiment together as long as possible at any risk. The Commander-in-Chief was marching on Delhi with a small force hurriedly got together; to have placed at this critical moment a regiment of mutineers in his rear would simply have been destruction, for they could have fortified some spot on the road and so cut off supplies from our camp.

Whilst he was taxing the native officers, the men of their companies were looking on – they were too far off to hear; but they took their cue from their officers and were quiet and respectful. Seaton left the circle of native officers, and went up and addressed each company, meeting with the same vows of fidelity.

As he came from parade after this trying scene, some officers inquired anxiously: “What is it, Colonel? Is it all right?”

“Oh yes. I think our throats will not be cut to-night.”

But his mind was not at ease until he had seen the guard for the night.

However, a few days passed quietly enough; but on the 8th a curious thing happened. As Seaton was going in the evening to visit the hospital, and was crossing a ditch, a young sepoy gave him a hand and whispered in his ear:

“Colonel Sahib, when your highness’ people shall have regained the Empire, I will make my petition to your highness.”

This was all he said, but Seaton could not help pondering on his meaning. Was this a warning to him of the coming outbreak of the regiment?

Resistance was out of the question, as he had only twelve English officers with him and one English sergeant. He was tormented by the ever-recurring thought that not only the lives of his officers, but perhaps the safety of our little army, might be dependent on himself. “All I could do,” he says, “was to trust in God’s mercy and goodness.”

The night of the 9th passed off quietly – all was still. In the morning he could detect nothing suspicious in camp. The men were civil and respectful to him personally. Some were parading for guard, some going to bathe, others preparing their food. Five of the young officers asked leave to go out shooting. Seaton had no objection, and they went. At 4 p.m., when he was in the usual camp hot-weather deshabille, all at once he was startled by a loud explosion. He ran out to see what was the matter, but neither saw nor heard anything strange – no crowd, not a sound, the men mostly sleeping after their day’s meal. He was going on when the havildar-major (native sergeant-major) came rushing up to him. Catching him in his arms, he said in a very agitated voice:

“Colonel Sahib, don’t go to the front.”

“Why not?”

“The Grenadiers are arming themselves. They have mutinied!”

The hour for which he had trembled had come at last. He tried to collect one or two of the native officers, but in vain. The havildar-major entreated him to be off whilst there was time. While the grooms were saddling the horses they heard musket-shots, and the havildar rushed past him. Immediately the whole body of the Grenadiers burst out of their tents, firing and shouting, in order to rouse the regiment and hurry it into mutiny.

The shouts and cries of terror, the galloping of horses, the report of muskets, all tended to confusion. Seaton had not time to take his sword, for the mutineers were within ten paces of him. He had got a few seconds’ start, and in a mêlée like this a second makes all the difference between life and eternity.

Just outside camp they overtook Major Drought, who was walking.

The havildar instantly cried: “Colonel, the poor old fellow will be murdered. I’ll put him on my horse and run for it.”

It was a noble and heroic act, for Shebbeare had been wounded by the mutineers. So they made Shebbeare get on the lee side of the Colonel’s horse; he laid hold of the stirrup, and off they went at a round canter.

After running 400 yards he got blown, and they pulled up to a walk. Soon they found the officers waiting for them at a bend in the road; they were all unhurt. After a time they saw clouds of smoke ascending, and knew that they were burning the tents. They kept on all night at a moderate pace. About 3 a.m. they heard a horseman coming along. Who could it be? They drew up and challenged.

“Who is there?”

“Sowar” (trooper).

“What sowar?”

“Hodson Sahib Ka Sowar” (one of Captain Hodson’s troopers). And then, saluting, he continued: “Are you the Sahib log? I have a letter for Colonel Cheetun Sahib.”

“Yes, come along; here is the Colonel Seaton.”

Seaton read the note by the light of a cigar vehemently smoked by an officer. It was to the effect that we had driven the rebels from the ridge into Delhi, and that our camp was pitched in the cantonments. So now they were all right, and knew where to find their camp. At 9 a.m. the Colonel dismounted at Sir H. Barnard’s tent.

They were all surprised to see him, as they had been informed that he and his officers were all killed: the young officers who had gone out shooting had been so informed, and had ridden to Delhi before them with the news.

Now all the belongings the Colonel had were his horse and the few clothes he stood in. He had to go round camp and beg: one gave him a coat, a shirt, and some cigars, another a sword and belt. He was made a member of the mess of the 1st E. B. Fusiliers, but had neither fork, spoon, plate, nor glass – for the mess merely provides food and dishes. However, he soon begged these or bought all he needed at a sale of an officer’s effects.

“My first night’s rest was heavenly,” he says. “I heard distinctly the firing, but it did not disturb me. I was lulled by a feeling of security to which I had been a stranger for many nights before the 60th mutinied. No wonder my sleep was profound.”

Delhi is situated on the right bank of the river Jumna. The walls are pear-shaped, on the river or eastern side rendered irregular by the excrescence of the old fort of Selimgurh. To the south the walls run to a point. Inland from Delhi is a ridge of rocks, which at its nearest point is about 1,400 yards from the walls. Our camp lay under the ridge, on the side away from the city; there were canals and swamps to protect us in rainy seasons. It was quite evident that a regular siege was out of the question, from the vast size of the place and from our want of guns, etc. A coup de main was our only resource. Accordingly a plan was drawn up by the Engineers and Hodson, and approved by the General. It was a hazardous step, but one and all were crying out “Take Delhi!”