CHAPTER VI

[1]Bandobust, lit., a tying or binding; any system or mode of regulation discipline; arrangements.

His early religious education had given Dilāwur more than the average insight into the intricacies of Mahomedan doctrine, and being possessed of ready wit, and considerable ability in debate, he was ever anxious to enter into doctrinarian discussions with themullahs. Their superstitions especially came in for his lively ridicule, and a good story is told by old native officers illustrating his views. One day, Dilāwur with a crowd of other passengers was crossing the Indus, which there was very deep and rapid, in the ferry-boat. Being over-heavily loaded, the boat, when it felt the strong current, appeared in great danger of filling and sinking. Then the Mahomedans on board with one accord set up loud lamentations, and began to call upon their saints to succour them. "Oh Ali! Oh Hosein! Oh Káka Sahib! save us," they cried. Whereupon Dilāwur, not to be outdone, in his turn commencedyelling and shouting vociferously: "Lumsden Sahib! Oh Lumsden Sahib, save me!" "What are you doing, you accursed infidel?" exclaimed the scandalised passengers, furiously. "Why do you supplicate Lumsden Sahib? It is enough to sink the boat straight away." "That is easily explained," calmly replied Dilāwur. "You are calling on saints who have been dead for ages, while Lumsden Sahib is alive and lives close by. Personally I consider it more sensible to call on a living man than on a dead saint."

On another occasion his enthusiasm in the cause of religious enlightenment nearly cost him his life. When the Amir Dost Mahomed Khan came to Peshawur in 1856, he was accompanied by Hafiz Ji, a leading mullah of Afghanistan and a great doctrinarian; to whom came the learned amongst the Faithful, to discuss the tenets of their religion and to listen to the wisdom of the wise. With them came also Dilāwur, full of zeal and thirsting for knowledge, who artlessly introduced so debatable a subject, that the assembly was thrown into an uproar; and lest worse things might happen unto him, the worthy, but too enquiring, subadar was hustled hastily forth, and requested in future to stick to soldiering, and to avoid bringing his infernal questions to cause discord amongst the chosen of the Prophet. As Dilāwur afterwards pathetically remarked, he "didn't think much of a religion which instead of meeting argument with argument onlythrew stones at the head of the seeker after knowledge." Indeed the occasion seems to have thoroughly unsettled him in the convictions of his youth, for shortly afterwards he finally shook off all connection with the Mahomedan religion, and turning Christian was baptised at Peshawur in 1858.

During the Mutiny he did excellent service, making the famous march to Delhi with the Guides, and serving with them throughout the siege and storming of that place. He served also in the many skirmishes which occurred on the frontier during the next twelve years, getting what he had bargained for on joining, plenty of fighting. And then came that call of duty which asked of the staunch old warrior to lay down his life for the foreign Queen whose good servant he was.

In 1869 the British Government wanted a man to go on a special and important mission, a man of infinite resource, well educated, hardy and brave, for he would need to carry his life in his hands for many a long day and many a weary mile. The man selected was Dilāwur Khan, and joyfully he undertook the risks and excitement of the service. With him went a comrade, Ahmed Jan, also of the Guides. The two set forth together, and after many hardships and adventures had reached the territory of the Mehtar of Chitral, and were nearing the completion of their task. Seated one day under a tree, making their midday halt and chatting with some fellow travellers, they weresuddenly surrounded by the soldiers of the Mehtar and hurried back under close guard to Chitral. Seeing danger ahead, Dilāwur, before he was searched, managed to drop into the river certain documents and reports of a secret nature, which it was important should not fall into strange hands.

On arrival at Chitral he and his companions were thrown into prison, there to await the Mehtar's pleasure. When eventually they were brought before him, that chieftain, addressing Dilāwur, asked, "Who are you and whence come you?" "I am the Mullah Dilāwur," replied the prisoner, "on my way from Bokhāra on a religious mission."

"No, you are not," replied the Mehtar; "you are Subadar Dilāwur of the Guides, a heretic and an infidel."

"Quite true," answered Dilāwur readily; "I was at one time a subadar of the Guides, but I have been many things in my time, and now I am a mullah."

"I have reliable information," said the Mehtar, "that you are in the secret employment of the British Government."

"Go to," laughed Dilāwur, "what next? I have a proposal to make. If you doubt that I am a mullah, and not an ignorant one, be pleased to call together all your most learned priests and I will discuss doctrine with them, till all are convinced."

"If you will confess and tell me the secrets of theGovernment," replied the Mehtar, "I will give you a handsome present and take you into my service."

"I have no secrets," said Dilāwur, "and I beg of your Highness to allow me to proceed on my way. On my arrival at theziarat[1] of the Káka Sahib near Nowshera I will make a special offering on behalf of your Highness, and extol your generosity."

[1]Ziarat, cemetery.

But the Mehtar evidently had very straight information regarding Dilāwur, and it was the custom of the land to kill all strangers who could not account for themselves, and more especially those who had any connection with the dreaded Feringhis. For the Pathan saying is: "First comes one Englishman, as a traveller or forshikar;[2] then come two and make a map; then comes an army and takes the country. It is better therefore to kill the first Englishman." Dilāwur was consequently sent back to prison, and a meeting of the mullahs decided that he should be stoned to death as an apostate. "It must be the will of God," said this brave man when the news was brought him, and prepared to meet his fate.

[2]Shikar, sport.

But not yet was his time fulfilled. For two months he and his travelling companions were kept in prison, probably to enable the Mehtar to correspond with his agents in Peshawur. The reply received was evidently not in favour of extrememeasures for the strong arm of the British was notoriously far-reaching, and serious trouble might ensue if the subadar were killed. The Mehtar therefore decided to release the prisoners, and to give them such assistance as they needed in getting away.

On their way towards India the little party got as far as the great range of mountains, some twenty-four thousand feet in height, which divide Chitral from Bajaur, and attempted to cross it by the Nuksan Pass, the Pass of Death. For four days and nights they struggled on, through the ever deepening snow and ever increasing cold. Dilāwur Khan's comrade, Ahmed Jan, was the first to die; and then, on the fourth night, the brave old soldier himself gave out, and as he was dying he called to him one of the survivors, and said: "Should any of you reach India alive, go to the Commissioner of Peshawur and say 'Dilāwur Khan of the Guides is dead'; and say also that he died faithful to his salt, and happy to give up his life in the service of the Great Queen."

So he died, and the eternal snows cover as with a soft and kindly sheet the rugged soldier who knew no fear. The serene and majestic silence of the mountain is given to him whose life in the plain below had been one great and joyous fight from the cradle to the grave.

For the Guides the great tragedy of 1857 opened with the mutiny of the 55th Native Infantry. When this regiment first showed signs of insubordination it was quartered at the neighbouring cantonment of Nowshera, then slenderly garrisoned by British troops, but with many European women and children. For safety's sake it was therefore thought better to isolate the regiment by sending it over to Mardan. With the news of the outbreak at Meerut the demeanour of the regiment became more sullen and menacing, and it was accordingly decided at once to disarm the sepoys. For this purpose a column was sent from Peshawur, consisting of a wing of the 70th Foot, a portion of the 5th Punjab Infantry under Vaughan, two hundred and fifty sabres of the 10th Irregular Cavalry, and some Mounted Police; the whole under Colonel Chute of the 70th Foot, with John Nicholson as political officer.

The 55th Native Infantry had been warned that the column was coming, and when, from the walls of thefort, they saw it approaching, they broke and fled, taking the Kātlung road, thus hoping to escape across the border into Swat and Buner. Nicholson with the cavalry and mounted police immediately started in pursuit. The cavalry, themselves disaffected, did no execution whatever; but the police behaved with great dash and gallantry, killing one hundred and twenty, and capturing one hundred and fifty of the mutineers. The remainder escaped across the border, but their fate was only postponed. Some were murdered by the tribesmen, some driven back into British territory, captured and hanged, and some were blown from guns before the eyes of the garrison of Peshawur. Of the whole regiment all were destroyed except a few scores who escaped the gallows and the guns to suffer transportation for life. Such was the terrible ending of the 55th Native Infantry; a signal and, as it proved, a most effective warning, the results of which were felt over the whole of the north-west corner of India.

A distressing and pathetic tragedy resulted from the mutiny of this regiment. Colonel Henry Spottiswoode who commanded it, like so many other officers, absolutely refused to believe in the disloyalty of his men. He was one of those who held the view that distrust bred disaffection, which with confidence would never appear. So deeply distressed was this chivalrous officer when his regiment rebelled, that he refused to outlive what to him was an indelible disgrace, and so, going apart, shot himself dead.According to an old soldier, then in the Guides, he fell and was buried under a great mulberry tree at the cross-roads near the fort.

Meanwhile, the Guides, at six hours' notice, fully equipped, horse and foot, had started on their historic march to Delhi. They left Mardan at six in the evening of May 13th, and joined the British force at the siege of Delhi early on June 9th. The distance is five hundred and eighty miles, and the time taken was twenty-six days and fourteen hours; but from this must be deducted five days and nine hours made up as follows: detained forty-two hours at Attock, holding the fort pending the arrival of a reliable garrison; detained forty-one hours at Rawul Pindi, pending the question as to whether the Guides were to be employed to disarm the native artillery; detained forty-six hours at Karnal by the magistrate, in order to attack, capture, and burn a hostile village lying twelve miles off the road. If, therefore, these halts "by order" are deducted, it will be found that the Guides took actually twenty-one days and five hours to march five hundred and eighty miles. This works out to an average of over twenty-seven miles a day. As a contemporary historian remarks, such a feat would be highly creditable to mounted troops, and was doubly so to the infantry portion of the corps. To add to the credit of this high achievement, it may be added that the march took place at the hottest season of the year through the hottest region on earth.

The record of a march along the Grand Trunk Road of India does not lend itself to much picturesque description, but perhaps it may be in this case of some interest to follow the stern resolve and steady endurance which carried the stout-hearted regiment through those never-ending miles along the straight and scorching road to Delhi. And in this endeavour we are singularly fortunate in having for reference a diary written from day to day by Henry Daly, who, in the absence of Lumsden on a special mission, commanded the corps. [1]

[1]Memoirs of General Sir Henry Dermot Daly, G.C.B., C.I.E.;by Major H. Daly. London, 1905.

The first night's march took the Guides sixteen miles to Nowshera, where after barely two hours' rest came orders to push on to Attock, another eighteen miles. To add to the hardships of this march, it so chanced that the Mahomedan fast of Ramzan was in observance, during which no follower of the Prophet may eat or drink between sunrise and sunset. Parched, hungry, and weary, the thirty-four mile march was completed, and the Indus crossed at ten in the morning of the 14th of May.

Halting by order forty-two hours at Attock, to allow of the arrival of a relief garrison, the Guides pushed on thirty-two miles to Burhan, on the night of the 15th—16th, in the midst of a violent dust storm. Many of the men were very footsore from their long march of the previous day, but all were cheerful and light-hearted, making naught of their hardships.

Another thirty-two mile march brought the corps to Jāni-ki-Sang, and took them the next morning fifteen miles in to Rawul Pindi. On the road Herbert Edwardes passed the corps, and drove Daly on into Rawul Pindi, there to meet the great hearts of the Punjab, John Lawrence, Neville Chamberlain, and John Nicholson.

A day was spent here in consultation on the broad aspect of affairs, and locally as to the advisability, or otherwise, of using the Guides to disarm the native artillery in garrison. Finally it was decided not to do so, and thus with the gruff but kindly farewells of John Lawrence, and the light-hearted chaff and high spirits of Herbert Edwardes, Daly and his men again set forth, and on the night of the 19th—20th made a twenty mile march to Mandra. There was no falling off in the cheerful endeavour, nor was any man so tired or footsore that he would be content to be left behind.

The next march brought the corps to Sohawa, twenty-four miles, made trying by hot scorching winds and the deep and intricate nullahs which had to be crossed. Then followed twenty-eight miles, and in delightful contrast the vicinity of great rushing waters made a little heaven of the camp on the banks of the Jhelum. But it was not for long; at dusk trumpets and bugles again sound the advance, and amidst a great storm of dust and rain the second of the great rivers of the Punjab is crossed, and in addition to the great difficulty and delay of a nightpassage, yet another twenty-one miles are added to the marching score before daylight. The 24th being a cooler day, Daly resolved to push on another fifteen miles to the Chenab, and to cross that river during the course of the night. This was safely accomplished, and by early morning on the 24th all were on the eastern bank at Wazirabad. That night the men were called upon for another thirty-two mile march, and daylight saw them at Kamoké. Resting all day nightfall again found them on the road completing another thirty miles into Lahore, the capital of the Punjab. The hour was six in the morning, and the date the 26th of May, from which it will be seen that the Guides had so far covered two hundred and sixty-seven miles in ten and a half marching-days.

A Scout of the Guides' Cavalry warning his Infantry Comrades. The small man on the right is a Gurkha

At Lahore Daly picked up some recruits to replace casualties, as well as to have a few in hand to meet future vacancies. Marching on, the banks of the Sutlej, close to the battlefield of Sobraon, forty-three miles from Lahore, were reached early on the 29th, and the passage of this, the fifth great river of the Punjab, was at once commenced. Then on again at dusk thirty-two more miles to Mihna; a more than usually trying march this, for a cross-country road caused many to lose their way, and it was twenty-four hours before all the baggage was in. This necessitated making the next a short march, in order that all might get into trim again; so at midnight, at the fourteenth milestone, Daly called a halt,and all slept the sleep of those who have endured much. June 1st saw the corps march into Ludhiana at three in the morning, after covering twenty-four miles. Here all was silence, and the officers, using the lowest step of the court-house as a pillow, slept soundly till dawn.

A pleasant restful day in the great cool house of the Deputy Commissioner, Mr. Ricketts, with such unheard of luxuries as cold water and iced ginger-beer to drink, and cool sheets to lie on, put fresh vigour into the little band of British officers, and off they went at half-past seven in the evening for a twenty-eight mile march to Alawi-ke-Serai. Another march, next night, of the same distance brought the corps to Rajpoora. They were now close to Umballa, and another night march brought them, at one in the morning of June 4th, to the deserted cantonment.

Here they were received in friendly fashion by the troopers of the Maharaja of Patiala, who had been left in charge, and were conducted to a grove of great trees near a tank, probably in the vicinity of the present racecourse. After a good day's rest under the trees the march was continued to Pipli, twenty-six miles, where a letter was received from Mr. Barnes, the Commissioner, giving news of the force at Meerut, and inferring that they were not much more than holding their own.

At Karnal, twenty-four miles onward, and now nearing their goal, two causes of delay crossed theirpath. Cholera, that ancient scourge of the East which finds its easiest prey when men are physically impoverished with great exertions, now attacked the dusty road-worn corps, three Gurkhas being the first victims, while seven or eight more men were down the same evening. At the same time came a call from Mr. Le Bas, the magistrate, strongly backed by Sir Theophilus Metcalfe, to turn aside in order to burn a mutinous village. Greatly demurring at any delay in reaching his main objective, the demand was so urgent that Daly felt bound to comply with it. His compliance cost him small loss, but the delay cost the British cause the help of the Guides at the battle of Budlika-Serai. Though too late for that fight, however, they were in time for many another before the walls of Delhi.

The moral effect of the arrival of the Guides in Delhi was perhaps in some measure greater even than the actual fighting strength thus brought into line. The fame of the march from the far distant frontier, the fine physique and martial bearing of soldiers drawn from warlike tribes new to the eyes of their British comrades, the encouraging and enheartening effect of the arrival of reinforcements however small, all tended to give the approach of the travel-stained Guides a high significance. Some such thought perhaps intuitively occurred to all; and every soldier who could claim to be off duty rushed to the dusty road-side, and hoarsely cheered the gallant fellows who had overcomeso much to reach the side of their British comrades, hard set to uphold the great Empire of Clive and Warren Hastings. It is interesting, at this distance of time, to find recorded the impression of an eye-witness who was amongst those who watched and cheered as the Guides, after a last thirty mile march, strode manfully into the camp at Delhi, on this, the morning of the 9th of June, 1857. "Their stately height and martial bearing," says this onlooker, "made all who saw them proud to have such aid. They came in as firm and light as if they had marched but a single mile."

At the end of this great march rest and peace for a day or two had assuredly been earned. But no; as the Guides approach the historic Ridge, a staff officer, sent out to meet them, gallops up, and after giving friendly greeting, with the General's compliments, asks, "How soon will you be ready to go into action?" "In half an hour," is the gallant Daly's cheery reply. And thus it came about that history added one more touch of glory to a great achievement. A little space of time there was for partial rest and hard-earned food, and then the trumpet calls to seize their arms and face the foe they had come so far to fight. And in that fight both horse and foot showed great and glorious valour; but when evening came, and beaten back the rebels hid behind the walls of Delhi, the roll-call told itssad undying story. Full many a Guide had made that strenuous march but to lay down his life e'er yet he had pitched his tent. And brightest lights, as was meet, amidst these heroes, were the little band of British officers, for of those, in that one first fight, all were killed or wounded. Amongst the latter was the lion-hearted, ever-cheerful Daly; and amongst the former the first of the great soldier-name of Battye to die a soldier's death. And as he died in that great agony his face lit up, and calm and smooth came the grand old Roman verse:

Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori.

The story of the Guides before Delhi is the story of all that gallant band who through the blazing heat, 'midst sickness and disease, fought the good fight right through the summer of 1857, and with them shared in the crowning glory of the final assault and capture of the capital of the Great Mogul. Hence after a few months' harrying and chasing of rebel bands, with sadly diminished numbers, but still stout of heart, the order came for the Guides to return to their home on the distant frontier.

In the midst of so much treachery, such dastardly deeds of murder and rapine, the bright light of unwavering fidelity, sealed and confirmed by surpassing gallantry in the field, so appealed to the hearts of the storm-pressed Englishmen, that the Guides received little short of an ovation when they returned to Peshawur. By order of Major-General SirSidney Cotton the whole of the garrison was paraded to receive the shattered remnants of that war-worn corps. On their approach a royal salute was fired by the artillery, and cavalry and infantry came to the salute while the massed bands played. The General then made a most eloquent and affecting address, welcoming the corps back to the frontier, and expressing the pride and honour felt by all in being associated with men whose deeds of daring had earned for themselves and their noble profession undying fame. They had taken six hundred men to Delhi and their casualties had reached three hundred and fifty. During the siege the whole strength in British officers had been renewed four times, and all these had been killed or wounded. One officer indeed had been wounded six times and yet survived, another four times, and others at least twice.

After his stirring speech, the General called for three cheers for the little band of ragged and war-worn heroes, who stood before them. Afeu de joieaccompanied by a salute of twenty-one guns was then fired, and after this the Guides, taking the place of honour at the head of the line, marched past the flag.

Short breathing space, and little of the rest of peace awaited the Guides on their return from Delhi. Within two months they were again taking the field, under Sir Sidney Cotton, against the Hindustani fanatics of Sittana.

These fanatics, as they were called, were really refugees from British territory, for the most part deserters from corps that had mutinied, or outlaws who had participated in some unforgivable outrage; some, however, were clean-handed patriots, who, on principle, refused to bow to the decree of destiny, or to become peaceful subjects of the Queen. If the latter had remained quiet and inoffensive members of tribes or communities beyond our borders, the British Government, never vindictive, would probably, as the heat and passions of a desperate war died down, have left them to their solitude. But instead of thus living peaceably in the asylum they had found, they set about inciting their hot-blooded neighbours to join them in disturbing the peace ofthe border. They harried villages, drove off cattle, killed and wounded British subjects, and thus became an additional disturbing feature on a frontier always ready enough for the pleasure of a good fight. The opportunity was therefore taken of the presence of Sir Sidney Cotton's column to make them feel that the strong hand of the British Government could reach them even in their mountain fastnesses.

With the co-operation of a force from the Hazara district Sittana, the stronghold of the Hindustanis, was skilfully surrounded, and a fierce hand-to-hand conflict ensued. Their Pathan allies, whose hearts were evidently not in the business, showed but lukewarm enthusiasm, and escaped as best they could; but the Hindustanis stood to a man. They fought like fanatics, coming boldly and doggedly on, and going through all the preliminary attitudes and posturing of the Indian prize-ring. Their advance was made steadily and in perfect silence, without a shout or a word of any kind, unlike the yelling charge of the Afghanghazi. All were dressed in their bravest and best for the occasion, as is meet for him who goes to meet his Lord, most of them in pure white, but some of the leaders in richly embroidered velvet coats. The fight was short, desperate, and decisive; and in the end every one of these brave, if misguided, warriors was killed or captured. The brunt of the charge fell on the 18th Punjab Infantry, who lost one officer and sixteen men in the encounter.

Many another fight too did the Guides have during the next few years with unvarying success, but we may perhaps pass the less important by, and come to the stiff encounter that faced them during the expedition against the Mahsud Waziri tribe in 1860.

The British force operating in that country had in the course of the campaign been split up into two columns; one under Sir Neville Chamberlain[1] had gone forward, lightly equipped, into the Waziri fastnesses; while a weaker column, some one thousand five hundred strong under Lumsden and including the Guides, was left at Pallosin to guard camp, equipage, and stores. Knowing the enemy he had to deal with, and his predilection for, and skill in executing the unexpected in war, Lumsden drew in his camp, so as to make it as snug and defensible as possible, and putting out strong picquets with their supports all round, he awaited the few days' absence of the main column. During the interval no signs of the enemy could be seen, nor could any news of him be obtained by means of spies. To all intents and purposes he seemed to have disappeared, and the little column lay, apparently unnoticed and unheeded, amidst the great mountains. Yet suddenly, from anywhere, from nowhere, from the very bowels of the earth, the Waziris rose in their thousands, and hurled themselves at the British camp.

[1] Afterwards Field-Marshal Sir Neville Chamberlain, G.C.B., &c.

Réveillewas just sounding in the grey dawn of April 23rd, when three thousand Waziris armed withswords and guns, and fired with fierce fanaticism, boldly charged that side of the camp which was held by the Guides. The storm first fell on the outlying picquets, who fired a volley, and then received the great rush of white-robed swordsmen on their bayonets. They fought with the utmost gallantry, but the weight of numbers was against them, and in a few minutes, standing bravely at their posts, they were practically annihilated. Yet the strife was not in vain, for it was strong enough to cause all but the bravest of the brave to pause before proceeding to attack the kernel of the nut, whose shell had been so hard to crack. And thus it came about that only five hundred of the three thousand swordsmen faced the death beyond. These, with scarce a pause, and calling loudly on Allah to give them victory, swept swiftly on to the camp of the Guides. In that war-seasoned corps, half an hour before dawn, wet or dry, in freezing cold or tropical heat, the inlying picquet, a hundred strong, falls in, and stands silent, fully equipped, armed, and ready for all emergencies, till broad daylight shows all clear and safe. At the first sound of the firing Lumsden jumped to his feet, and taking this inlying picquet, rushed out of camp at its head, and so posted it as to enfilade and hold in check the great body of Waziris who now darkened the skyline. Then, hastening back to camp, he reached it almost abreast of the five hundred, who were not to be denied.

A non-commissioned officer of the Guides' Infantry

Now commenced the very babel of conflict; horses and mules neighing and screaming and straining at their ropes, dogs barking, men yelling, the clash of swords, the rattle and crash of musketry, the screams of the wounded and the groans of the dying. Was ever such a pandemonium? The Guides in small knots, though hard stricken, fought with determined courage; but they were gradually driven back, inch by inch, till they were almost on to the guns parked in the rear. Then came to the rescue the keen resource and ready courage of the British subaltern. Borne back in the rush were Lieutenants Bond and Lewis of the Guides; but in the awful din and confusion they could at first do little else but defend themselves. Gradually, however, they formed the few men near them into a rough line, and by dint of shouting and passing the word along, succeeded in getting more men to catch the notion; till in a few minutes they had the best part of two hundred men in line right across the camp. Then came the order passed along with a roar, "Fix bayonets!" This order was in fact superfluous, for every man was already busy holding his own with his bayonet; but there is a certain sequence in military orders, which in times of confusion tend to steady the nerves with the cool touch of drill and discipline. The sequence of the order "Fix bayonets!" is "Charge!" When that sequence came a wild cheer echoed down the line of the Guides; as one man they leaped forward, and with thrust andstaggering blow cleared the camp of the enemy. As they retreated the 4th Sikhs and 5th Gurkhas took them in flank, and in a few minutes turned a repulse into a headlong flight. The enemy left one hundred and thirty-two dead on the ground, ninety-two of whom were in the Guides' camp, and carried off immense numbers of wounded and dying. The Guides lost thirty-three killed and seventy-four wounded.

This was Lumsden's last fight at the head of the Guides. Now a Lieutenant-Colonel and a Companion of the Bath, his promotion was assured, and it came with his transfer to the command of the Hyderabad contingent, with the rank of Brigadier-General. This fine soldier from the raising of the corps in 1846 had held command of it for sixteen years; the brightest example of what a brave, chivalrous, and resourceful leader should be. Commanders of regiments come and go, and few leave their mark; but over the Guides the influence of Lumsden still burns bright and clear. To be alert and ready; to rise equal to the occasion, be the call small or great; to be not easily taken aback in a sudden emergency; to be a genial comrade and a good sportsman,—such are the simple soldier maxims left to his comrades by one of the best soldiers who ever drew sword.

The extraordinary devotion felt for Lumsden by the rude warriors whom he had enlisted and trained to war was somewhat pathetically, if quaintly, illustrated by an incident that occurred not long before he left. Sir John Lawrence, then Lieutenant-Governor of the Punjab, had been round to inspect the Guides, for in those days they were not under the orders of the Commander-in-Chief, but directly under the Civil Government. Something in the course of the day had occurred to put Sir John Lawrence out of humour, and he was at all times a man of blunt speech. Whatever it was, it temporarily annoyed Lumsden, and quite unwittingly this became evident to the faithful fellows who were ready to charge into hell-fire at his order. It was a mere passing cloud, for the cheery bright-hearted Lumsden was no man to brood over small matters of this sort. As, however, he sat out under the stars smoking his last pipe, he became aware of a figure in the background, and turning round saw one of his orderlies respectfully standing at attention.

"Hullo! What's up?" asked Lumsden.

"It is only this," replied the orderly, one of the rough warriors who took orders only from his own sahibs, and cared not a jot for any other man, black or white. "It is only this, Sahib: I and my comrades noticed that the Lord Sahib spoke to-day words that were not pleasing to your Excellency, and that you were angry and displeased when you heard them. So we have consulted together as to how best we may serve the proper end; for it is not right and proper that we should allow our Colonel Sahib to be harshly spoken to by anyone. There is,therefore, this alternative: the Lord Sahib has arranged to leave by the straight road to-morrow morning for Peshawur, but with your honour's kind permission, and by the Grace of God, there is no reason whatever why he should ever reach it." That man thoroughly meant what he said, and to this day the same touching devotion of the men to their officers, though perhaps less bluntly expressed, is still one of the characteristics of the Guides.

Many years afterwards Lord William Beresford, when Military Secretary to the Viceroy, was fond of telling a story not only illustrative of the personal equation which would cause one of the rough and ready old soldiers to refuse obedience to any but his own officers, but also giving a somewhat embarrassing illustration of a sentry adhering too literally to his orders. Lord William was somewhat annoyed at the time; but when cooler, he saw the sound military spirit underlying the incident, and hence always mentioned it with commendation.

It appears that as the Guides' cavalry were marching in to Rawul Pindi for a concentration of troops, just before they reached their camping-ground they passed a pond by the roadside. The officer commanding turning round, called one of the men to him and said: "Go, stand sentry on that pond, and don't let anyone water there, till we have watered our horses."

"Very good, your Honour," replied the trooper, and went and posted himself.

What the commanding officer really meant was, not to allow cattle and transport animals to dirty the water before the horses came down to drink; but he did not express himself very clearly.

Shortly after the sentry had taken up his beat a string of horses, headed by a gorgeous being in a scarlet uniform, appeared, making for the pond.

"Hullo! you there, where are you going?" shouted the sentry.

"Going?" repeated the gorgeous being, superciliously. "Why, to water my horses, you stupid fool."

"No you don't," said the sentry; "no one waters here till the Guides have finished with it."

The gorgeous person nearly fell off his horse with astonishment, and when he found speech he replied: "Cease prattling, son of an impure mother! These are the Great Lord's horses, and can of course water where and when they choose."

"I don't care a quarter of an anna whose horses they are, but they don't water here. So, out of this, you mis-begotten son of a red-coated ape, or I'll give you something to help you along." And the sentry quietly pulled out a cartridge, and began leisurely fitting it into the breech of his carbine.

This was not at all to the red-coated gentleman's liking. To trot behind his Lord, richly caparisoned and splendidly mounted, was one thing; but to meet an infernal fellow who deliberately fitted a cartridge into his carbine to defend his post, was amatter not lightly to be undertaken. Accordingly he galloped off to fetch his native officer. When this officer arrived he was much enraged, and roundly abused the sentry, calling him every name under the sun, and casting the gravest reflections on the whole of his ancestors, especially on the female side.

But the sentry stood like a block of wood, and when the other had finished answered: "I don't know who you are, and don't care; and for the present you may talk as much as you like, though when I am at liberty I also shall have a few words to say. But I am sentry here on this pond, and my orders are such and such, and I mean to obey them. The first man who tries to force me I hit with a bullet."

"Was there ever such a person?" said the native officer. "He must be mad! And the Great Lord's horses too! God preserve him; he will certainly be hanged, or sent across the Black Water for life."

So he too rode off to fetch his sahib; and shortly a trail of dust on the road showed that he was returning, and not leisurely. The officer was hot, indignant, and vexed, and said to the sentry: "By my order you will allow the Viceroy's horses to water at this pond."

"With every respect," replied the sentry, "my own Sahib has given me other orders, and I mean to obey him."

And nothing the officer could say, and he said agood deal, could move the sentry one hair'sbreadth from that resolve. So he, in his turn, rode off to fetch the last court of appeal, the Military Secretary, Lord William Beresford.

As all who knew him will remember, his Lordship was very short and sharp when anything occurred that in the least infringed the dignity of the Viceroy, or of anything belonging to that exalted personage; and probably few would have cared to be in the shoes of that sentry during the next few minutes. But the sentry was sublimely oblivious of the existence of so high an official as a Military Secretary, and only dimly aware of the existence of a Great Lord. On the other hand his own Colonel Sahib and his own sahibs, with whom he had fought and bled, were real live people, whom he knew quite well and whose word was law unto him. The Military Secretary, therefore, being evidently an older and more worthy sahib than the last, was received with even more respect; but as to allowing the horses to water, the sentry was adamant on that point. "I obey my Colonel's orders," said he, "and no one else's." Lord William, though greatly vexed, as perhaps was only natural, was too good a soldier to force a sentry, and rode off therefore to the Guides' camp to lay the matter before the commanding officer. The rest was naturally all cordiality and good feeling, and an invitation to lunch; while the Guides' subaltern galloped off and cut the Gordian knot.

Scarcely had Lumsden parted from his beloved corps, when they again took the field, in the small but bloody Umbeyla campaign of 1863. The opening incident was in what was coming to be honourably looked upon as thoroughly Guides' fashion. Two troops of the cavalry and two companies of the infantry of this corps, under Jenkins,[1] were encamped at Topi, blockading the Gaduns and Hindustani fanatics preparatory to the advance of the field-force. One night a patrol of three men, under Duffadar Fakira, suddenly encountered a body of about three hundred of the enemy, on their way to surprise and capture the camp of the Guides. Without a moment's hesitation, and with highly commendable presence of mind, the duffadar began shouting "Fall in! fall in!" as if addressing countless legions; and then wheeling his three men into line, and each man yelling like a dozen fiends, fell with fury on the advancing enemy. The effect was magical, the enemy thinking that they had been betrayed, or forestalled, or had perchance fallen into an ambush, and that opposed to them was the whole strength of the Guides. In the darkness a panic set in, and the whole force broke and fled, their redoubted and sainted leader, the Mullah Abdullah, showing the way.

[1] Afterwards Colonel Sir Francis Jenkins, K.C.B.

In the fierce and frequent fighting which week after week, raged round the celebrated Crag picquet, the Guides took their part. This picquetstood at the top of an abrupt and precipitous rock, accessible from our side only by a narrow rocky path, while towards the enemy the ground sloped away to further hills. The weakness of the picquet, therefore, lay not only in its openness to determined attack, in days of short-range weapons and hand-to-hand fighting, but also in the difficulty experienced in quickly reinforcing it. Once taken, not only the neighbouring post, known as the Monastery picquet, but the whole camp lay under its commanding fire.

The first occasion on which the Crag was seriously attacked was before dawn on the 30th of October, when the picquet was rushed, and the twelve men of the 1st Punjab Infantry who held it were swept from the crest, but like limpets bravely clung to the near slopes. In support, close below, lay Major Keyes[1] with the remainder of the 1st Punjab Infantry and a company of the Guides. Owing to the rocky and difficult ascent it was impossible to do much till daylight, but with the first streak of dawn, valuably aided by the flank fire of Major Brownlow[2] and the 20th Punjab Infantry, Keyes himself at the head of the storming party most gallantly recaptured the Crag picquet at the point of the bayonet. As illustrating the severity of this hand-to-hand fighting, it may be mentioned that the enemyleft sixty dead or dying, mostly Hindustani fanatics, in and round the picquet, while our own losses amounted to fifty-five.

[1] Afterwards Commandant of the Guides and later General Sir Charles Keyes, K.C.B., etc.

[2] Afterwards General Sir Charles Brownlow, G.C.B., etc.

In this gallant assault the company of the Guides bore their share, and four of them are mentioned as having been amongst the first into the recaptured position. The next serious assault took place on November the 12th, but after severe fighting was beaten off by Major Brownlow and the 20th Punjab Infantry, again supported by two companies of the Guides. A native officer of the Guides was specially mentioned on this occasion for carrying ammunition at great personal risk up to the besieged picquet. It was estimated that two thousand of the enemy took part in this assault.

The third assault on this historic picquet was made by the undaunted tribesmen on November the 13th, when it was held by the 1st Punjab Infantry; and so determined and strongly supported was the attack that not only was the picquet, now one hundred and twenty strong, driven off the hill, but something like a panic spread amongst the followers in camp, much disturbing the dispositions made for recapturing the Crag. The first attempt to stem the tide was made by detachments of the Guides and 1st Punjab Infantry, but these were not strong enough to retake the picquet, and could barely hold their own. Then came to the rescue Major C.C.G. Ross with detachments of the Guides, 1st Punjab Infantry, and 14th Native Infantry, which, charging up, got closeto the crest, but were not strong enough to drive out the swarms of determined warriors grimly holding the vantage ground.

The matter had now reached a serious point, at once apparent to Sir Neville Chamberlain; for the possession of the Crag picquet by the enemy made untenable the whole British position. He therefore immediately ordered to the assault the 101st Royal Bengal Fusiliers.[1] This gallant regiment aided by three companies of the Guides, and the line swelled by Major Ross's mixed detachments, without a check stormed and captured the position with the bayonet. The enemy lost two hundred and thirty men in this gallant attempt, while our own casualties reached one hundred and fifty-eight.

[1] Now the Royal Munster Fusiliers.

The final attempt came on the afternoon of November the 20th. The post was then garrisoned by one hundred bayonets of the 101st Royal Bengal Fusiliers and one hundred bayonets of the 20th Punjab Infantry. Again so determined was the attack, and made in such strength, that the British garrison was swept from the hill with considerable loss. The position of affairs was now so critical that Sir Neville Chamberlain himself determined to lead the columns detailed to assault and retake the picquet. In this fine advance the 71st Highland Light Infantry, supported by the Guides, made the frontal attack, and so impetuous was their charge that the summit was reached and the enemy drivenfrom it with little loss. Our total casualties in the affair, however, reached one hundred and fifty-three, while the estimated loss of the enemy was three hundred and twenty.

Such was the history of the Crag picquet, four times fiercely attacked with overwhelming numbers by a brave and fanatical foe, thrice captured, and thrice by sterling grit and stout endeavour bravely recaptured. Of a surety this bloody site has earned the title given it by all the countryside. It is called theKutlgar, or the Place of Slaughter, for of friend and foe well nigh a thousand warriors had shed their blood to keep or take that barren rock.

Eight of the Guides received the Indian soldiers' highest reward for conspicuous gallantry in the field during these strenuous assaults and counter assaults.

Though this was no cavalry country, as may readily be judged, several troops of the Guides' cavalry, together with the 11th Bengal Cavalry, did useful service on more than one occasion, under the gallant leadership of Colonel Dighton Probyn,[1] one of the brilliant band of cavalry soldiers who had earned undying fame in the great Mutiny. It is perhaps the memory of those old days of dangers and troubles passed through together, that keeps alive the kindly feeling which leads Sir Dighton Probyn to write a few words of brave encouragement when his old comrades of the Guides taketheir share of such fighting as still, from time to time, falls to their lot. On their side the Guides look on him, along with Lumsden and Jenkins and other old heroes, as one of their own sahibs.

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