Chapter LX: Appendix: VI

Extracts from Sir Harry Smith’s Letters from India, to his Sister, Mrs Sargant.

Loodhiana, 12th Feb. 1842.

You must excuse, dear Alice, my referring you to Sir James’s letter for information as to the tragedy of Cabool, but my labours now are great. He sent me such a character to give Lord Ellenborough. I had also a very handsome letter from dear Lord Fitzroy Somerset, saying his son was with Lord E., and he would thank me “to instil into him some of that chivalrous and gallant spirit which has been your guide in your military career.”

Juana unites with me in love to you all, dearest sister, and if I am actively employed you shall not have cause to accuse me of a want of energy, pluck, or decision, with a jealousy of time, that thing of all others in war for which all great generals have been remarkable. “Time is everything in War,” says Wellington, and daily experience verifies it.

Harry.

I suppose you started, like a half-broken horse, when I told you I was driving four-in-hand. You will start again, I hope, when I say after having had the use of it since I have been in India, having driven it from point to point seven hundred and two miles of good roads and bad, I have sold it for £700. It is gone as a present to Shere Singh, King of the Punjaub at Lahore, the son and successor of old Runjeet. There’s a bit of luck for you!

Simla, 3rd June, 1842.

My dearest Alice,

On the 24th May I received your letters of 31st March and 6th April. And while you wrote them full of that excitement and ardour for the fame of your country and the ambitious honour of your brother, he was quietly pruning rose-water trees, training jessamine, lopping forest trees, and improving his _ways_, like Cincinnatus, with this exception, I fear—that in his case, there is no chance of being drawn from his retreat into activity and the service of his country.

It rejoices me to see the vigour with which the people of England always meet disaster and rush to its reparation with heart, hand, and pocket.

_I am of the War Party._ Money will overcome every difficulty, expended with economy and supported by energy and activity.

My Lord E. is _now_ of a pacific turn, and, as I told you last month, our troops are ordered to withdraw.

Simla, July 1, 1842.

This L[ord] you have sent us as a Moghul, by the powers, he is an arbitrary boy, and veers about like a weather-cock. Maybe a wonderful scholar, but, rest assured, unless he materially changes,——. “The wind bloweth where it listeth,” but terrestrial rulers must be guided by locomotive principles slower than steam-coaches.

Poor dear old Father! my heart aches when I think what age reduces us to. I inherit many of his noble ideas as to courage, I hope. His has been a wonderful career of strength both of mind and body. We unite in love to all. God bless you, dear Alice.

Harry.

Simla, 7th Sept. 1842.

The great Lord arrived yesterday. The Staff and Commander-in-Chief were ordered to his Lordship’s own house to receive him. I was the only person introduced. He came up in a most ready manner, shook hands, and said, “I am delighted to make your acquaintance, General Smith. I have heard a great deal about you indeed.” I was very near laughing and saying, “I hope no _harm_,” but as Great Moghul he is our king. He is a wild fellow, depend on it. His A.D.C.’s are all great friends of mine. I hear his Lordship prides himself on his _military ability_. It is more than my note and its continuation[269] are inclined to do. Oh, the grievous procedure since November last!

Simla, 15th Oct. 1842.

You will rejoice to learn that Lord E. has taken a great fancy to me and treats me quite as an old friend. Upon the receipt of any news of importance he will run down to my house to tell me or write a note. I have had frequent long conversations with his Lordship. He has a perfect knowledge of the affairs and state of India and the mode to preserve it, and, although he jumps to very rapid conclusions, they are usually just and accurate, therefore cease to be classed as errors.

I have done two or three military things for him with which he was highly satisfied, and in the military shows and spectacles he proposes for our camp at Ferozepore upon the return of the army at the Indus and the reception of the monarch of Lahore, Shere Singh, his Lordship tells me I must be prepared to assist him.

... Once more adieu, dear sister. How I long once more to visit my native land! What a period of banishment has mine been! Out of thirty-seven years’ service, I have only been six in Great Britain, five of that in Scotland.

Ferozepore, 15th December, 1842.

My Dear Alice,

It is not often I complain of a want of time, but I may venture this mail to do so, such humbug, as well as serious matters, am I engaged in. Our Moghul is non-compos, as sure as eggs are the produce of fowls, with all his pomp and trash, to meet an army of imaginary victors.

Loodhiana, 17th Jan. 1843.

Our Moghul is mad, undoubtedly—a species of military madness, of pomp, ceremony, renown, and it is incredible to what an extent of frenzied excitement he has worked himself up. Among other acts of extraordinary folly, so at enmity with the cause of Christ and so calculated to sow discord between Hindoos and Mussulmans, is his dragging these old portals about called the Gates of Somnauth, a temple which _once_ existed, but is now a Moslem ruin. He conjured up in his imagination that Hindoos would flock in myriads from every quarter of pagan India to sacrifice at the holy shrine of these memorable portals, whereas not a votary of Brahma ever, even out of curiosity, came to look at them, their history being obsolete among an ignorant people. Mussulmans are indignant at this attempt to degrade them in the eyes of those whom their swords subdued, and the holy Cross of Christ stands appalled, while all Christians shudder at this sacrilegious attempt to perpetuate the barbarities of Paganism by contributing towards its maintenance. The attempt has, however, been as futile as monstrous. Our course is not one to sow discord amongst those we have conquered.

Our united love to poor old Father and you all.

Harry.

Simla, June, 1843.

My dearest Alice,

The state of poor dear Father from your description is melancholy indeed. “Yet is their strength then but labour and sorrow.” Poor old man! an iron though never over-robust frame has enabled you to endure much, to struggle against difficulties, to contend with excitement, and to bear great bodily exertion. God’s will be done! All things must end, and our only prayer ought now to be, however painful the blow we must anticipate, “Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace.” And we must add, “Almighty and most merciful Father, grant that he may receive Thy salvation.” “Beats the strong heart, the less the lips avow.” Heaven bless him!

Our m—d Moghul has started from Agra to Calcutta by order, we hear, of the Court of Directors. He therefore may be regarded as _en route_ to Downing Street to encore his “song of triumph.” He is a fickle fellow, but has told me twenty times, “The moment I am not fully supported from home, I go.” He was always very kind to me.

Allahabad, 9th Aug. 1843.

A wish was expressed by Sir J. Nicolls, as also by Sir H. Gough, that I should proceed to meet the latter in Calcutta. In three days after the receipt of this wish, I and Juana started dâk, as it is called; that is, in a wooden box, a palanquin, somewhat like a giant sailor’s trunk, borne on the shoulders of four men by a pole projecting fore and aft, with four other men to relieve them, eight to each palanquin. The eight men are again relieved at about ten-mile stages. The pace is not rail-road; it averages three and a half miles per hour.

The heat we endured until we reached Delhi cannot be described. After that we got through the greater part of our _day’s_ work by night; from hence we shall steam it, and complete a journey of 1300 odd miles.

Calcutta, 10th Sept. 1843.

I like my new master much, and with his Irish heart he appears readily to warm to me. He is very much delighted at my exertion to join, but I am cruelly worked just now, writing from four o’clock every morning till dark, then dinners, parties, balls, etc., so that even my aptitude to labour must fail if our Staff did not relieve me.

18th Jan. 1844, Gwalior.

My dearest Alice,

As I know my welfare is one of your leading stars, I tell you I am all well, and likely to be decorated with the Star of Gwalior!

Our Chief is a gallant fellow, but no genius as a tactician on strategic principles, but he licked the foe and took every gun (56), right well served and every gunner bayoneted at his gun; while the Division under General Grey on the same day beat the enemy opposed to him, several miles distant from us, and took every gun he had (25).

The devils before us had the most pluck, though, by far.

You had a brother and two nephews in the field. Hugh’s[270] regiment was the most distinguished with General Grey. Indeed, theirs was the brunt of the battle, and the youth behaved nobly, all his comrades say. Harry’s[271] corps was but little engaged, yet I saw the boy looking as cool as his usual placidity renders him. I had a most narrow escape. A cannon-shot contused my right leg and carried away my stirrup and leather, passing under the horse’s chest. The force of the ball against the stirrup nearly threw the horse on his side. I thought my leg was smashed, so benumbed was it, but it was not cut. I never got off, nor until I could move my toes upon a return of sensation was I aware that my leg was whole and my stirrup was gone; the very leg I was wounded in years ago. Thank God, though still black, it is all right now. My horse, a noble Arab,[272] which I rode all day (my other horses, of course, being out of the way), had two slight wounds besides his miraculous escape from various round shot.

Among a set in India, it is the _façon de parler_ that India could be kept with Seapoys alone. He who says this is a fool. They could not keep it, though transferred to them by England’s best blood. There is on earth nothing equal to the “British soldier.”

Now for your gratification. Poor dear Juana, who was on an elephant under the fire of cannon, is to be “Lady.” Poor dear old wife, she has been very far from well for some time. The Commander-in-Chief, who is a very warm-hearted fellow, says he insures me the K.C.B., which will please you more than me.... We are also to have a brass star for every officer and soldier made out of the captured cannon, and as Juana is again a heroine, I want a gold star to be made at the jeweller’s who makes mine, according to the sketch enclosed, which she would wear as a brooch, the enamel part representing the ribbon.

May God bless you all is the fervent prayer of all us stars of Gwalior!

Faithfully your brother,
Harry.

As you have fancy in such things, make me out some sort of arms for approval; but I like my present crest of all things, as it resembles a game-cock; and remember I am Sir _Harry_ Smith—none of your Henries.—H. G. S.

Camp Umbala, 18 March, 1844.

My dearest Alice,

You must forgive me this post, but what with marching, my report going home, etc., I have a mass of papers and business on my table, which must be cleared to-day. For I never have _one_ thing any _one_ day that I do not finish; and my table every evening is as clear as an Indian sky. God bless you all!

Harry.

Simla, 1 July, 1844.

Dearest Alice,

As to the shield, I prefer the one I returned. But we must have a better elephant. His hind legs are all wrong.

Now for the motto, which, believe me, I have not lightly chosen, and which I intend pertinaciously to adhere to—“Inter milites miles.” As a boy, as I was a jawing fellow, I always had a great sway among my comrades: and progressively the truth neutralized the vanity of the assertion that I had ever been looked up to in my profession. Thus, “Inter milites miles”—“A soldier among soldiers.” And, thank Heaven, I have served with soldiers.

Pray be sure I do not adopt or assume anything bordering on the preposterous or beyond the limit of decided right. Are you sure this Vandyked sort of a coronet is right for the lion to dance on? I wish that lion was a Rifle soldier; but I suppose that cannot be. I must fight for supporters. Then I would have a Rifleman and a 52nd soldier, the component parts of my gallant old Brigade in the Light Division. If the Rifleman could be put on duty, Brother Tom would correct his uniform and position. Your brother,

H. G. Smith.

Rest assured all of you, no _honour_ is half equal to the love I bear you all in heart. I am the same

Harry.

Simla, 1st July, 1844.

Lord Ellenborough’s government has been one stamped with indelible proof of striking ability, exertion, zeal, and assiduity, but founded on no just and firm principles of future durability, establishing and altering things at the moment without reflecting whether for ultimate benefit to posterity. Such innovations in established government require a gradual introduction, and must not be prematurely forced if they are to be a wholesome fruit and for the welfare of such a vast and heterogeneous nation. He saw clearly many existing errors, many practices which required reform or were capable of amendment; but jumped to such rapid conclusions that in the most instances the remedy increased rather than alleviated the evil.

India is an ancient and peculiar country, replete with prejudices and bigoted to custom. The introduction of any change requires to be gradual to effect a benefit. Such benefit his precipitancy usually defeated. The complicated systems of modern governments obviously found their origin in those simple forms of patriarchal rule not as yet in the East obliterated. Laws must be adapted to the people; their nature must be gentle and calm, and not marked by any outward appearance of strong feeling. He was elated in success beyond all bounds of moderation, in reverse depressed below all conception, in difficulties wavering and undecided; thus evincing a want of that moral courage without which, in situations of great responsibility, the most consummate ability and zeal are useless, and a straightforward, bold, and plodding fellow of very inferior talent makes the better governor. In the military execution of a large portion of his duty his zeal for the nominal welfare of the soldier has been unbounded; but it must not be regarded as illiberal or uncharitable if I remark that this appears to be founded on a personal vanity which has acquired for him the appropriate soubriquet of a Brummagem Napoleon. With great affectation of liberality, accompanied certainly by several such acts, he has shown a miserly parsimony a great governor should avoid,—just, probably, in principle or founded on rule; but such a principle (however anomalous the assertion) must bend to circumstance in all states, whether in the civil or military branch. Hence my lord drove the Seapoy army into mutiny by an indiscreet exercise of what I admit was a right, but one which the Seapoy did not understand under very trying and peculiar circumstances, and in the midst of this mutiny moral courage was wanting. By conceding the pecuniary point, mutiny in that army of mutineers had been reduced to implicit and unqualified obedience. The matter was unadvisedly smoothed over, and the _strong_ goes to the wall. Militarily, too, my lord had another awful fault: one which, had he continued long enough as Governor-General, would have sapped the true base of discipline that every soldier must look up to the authority placed immediately over him, and all to their Commander-in-Chief. Whereas he would correspond with officers commanding regiments, even with individuals; would frame orders which were indeed within his legitimate province, but which etiquette, or, what is a better reason, common sense, demands should be previously submitted to the Commander-in-Chief, for an opinion as to how they would work; would appoint officers to civil departments without any reference to their military character for rectitude, or whether they could advantageously be spared from their regiments. Thus it was evident that the fundamental principles of good government were not respected, and, while these interior errors existed, external ones of great magnitude were in operation; but these require more time to dwell on than I can bestow. As a whole, Lord Ellenborough’s administration will be extolled by the home government. He can speak, and will well defend himself. He has some great acts to boast of (whatever their intrinsic merit) which will so eclipse the apparently little ones I have recorded (which still are the component parts of one great whole, like wheels in a watch) that he will be deemed a noble martyr and become ere long President of the Board of Control. India will be the gainer by his removal and by the man (if I mistake not) who succeeds him, my old friend Sir Henry Hardinge. By way of summary of my lord’s character. An excess of vanity, and contempt for the opinions of others or their feelings, but, as with many a man, not naturally a bad heart where self-interest and aggrandisement are not the controlling powers. In early life he had not been taught to withdraw his thoughts from self-will and to fix them upon the dictates of conscience, to watch narrowly the rapid movements and changes which take place in all men’s ideas, to form distinct notions of the intellectual faculties of others and the result and operations of his own acts. Had such been the case, it is more likely he would have acquired just habits of thinking and been more accustomed to analyze his own feelings and trains of thought. If a man of his great capability and powers of reasoning be placed in early life in minor situations of responsibility, and thus be afforded opportunities of observing the diligence and aptitude for industry of those around, and subsequently succeed to supreme authority, he has acquired an _indispensable quality_—that of giving every one his meed of credit, until he has displayed inefficiency or incompetency. In the profession of my lord’s father[273] every man is innocent until found guilty, but with _our_ “Law” every man was guilty who ventured an opinion in variance with his own. Lord Ellenborough has been very kind to me, and as I ever feel for any man under a visitation, so I do for him, and I have written to him.

Simla, 12th Sep. 1844.

My dearest Alice,

What do you think I have been at work at for the last month? Some memoirs of my life and Juana’s and my adventures—all from memory. I have got into _Jamaica_, and have written nearly 400 pages of closely-put-together foolscap. Will you like to decipher and correct it? It will be done in a fortnight—that is, the rough; for as yet I have never read over one sheet I have written, but rushed ahead as water finds its level. There are a variety of stories and events in it.

The new Governor-General is winning golden opinions by his deportment and the regularity with which he transacts business. He says in his letter to me the labour is incessant, much of it trifles which ought to be settled in the departments they belong to. He has hit off one of the great evils of this government pretty quick evidently. The rumour here is very general that, Sir Hugh Gough not having taken the hint to make way for Sir Henry Hardinge, it will be renewed in a less evasive communication. If he be made a peer and they give him the pension as in the case of Lord Keane (my dear old friend who is fast decaying), I am of opinion Sir Hugh Gough would willingly return to his native land, covered with honours, wallowing in wealth, possessing a good heart, a gallant hand, and _no_ ——.

It is wonderful how fortune adheres to some men, and supplies all the deficiencies of nature.

You addressed a letter to me the other day “Sir Henry.” My name is and shall be Harry.

Simla, 15th October, 1844.

Well, I have finished the anecdotes of a very long military career from my entrance into the army in 1805 to the end of the campaign of Gwalior. It is a voluminous tale, containing upwards of six hundred pages of foolscap, written all over without margin in my beautiful autograph as closely as this paper, but I fear ten times as illegible. I have never read a page of it since my scrawling it over at full gallop, and wish you well through it. If I am to send it, great circumspection must be used as to names and descriptions of men and events, or they might do others an injury (which Heaven forfend) and myself too. Whether it may not be advisable not to print it all until I am on the shelf in our retreat or in my grave for the benefit of my widow remains for you and Sir James Kempt to decide on inspection.

I very much regret to say the new Moghul has begun his career as Governor-General in a very little, calculating way, as a banker’s clerk might be expected to do; and all accounts from Calcutta agree in saying that he funks responsibility beyond conception, throwing himself into the hands of understrappers. This won’t do for India. It must be governed by energy and decision. “Sic volo” like my lord Ellenborough. It would appear that if these two men’s minds could be manufactured into one, the corn being preserved and the chaff scattered to the winds, then a Governor-General would be manufactured appropriate for the _rôle_. The Company servants, civil and military, are an _exclusive_ race of beings and of all things must be controlled. There is now a sort of reaction from great control to concession and a seeking the opinion of others. I hope he is only studying his lesson.

I am sorry indeed to hear poor Nancy[274] has been unwell. God bless her, she was a wild, light-hearted thing once, like my wife.

Umbala, 14th Jan. 1845.

My book is in the hills. Harry Lorrequer would make a good story of it. You may ask him if you like, and let me know what he says of it. I ought to expect half the proceeds. It is a book that would take wonderfully. Suppress actual names. All my old comrades would speedily know the hero and heroine of the romance. I hope to return to my dear old wife by the middle of March.

Harry.

Simla, 15th March, 1845.

Your description of railroads astonishes the eyes of a Whittlesea man. It is a very curious circumstance that one of the Romans’ great roads ran down to Eastrey near Charles’ farm, that is, between our two old fields, from which I have fetched up old Jack from grass many a time, and Charles’ large farm (the Decoy is the name, I think). These railroads will have an effect on the world, whether for good or evil, and will change its population to one community, either saints or devils or a bastard mixture of both.

Simla, 1st May, 1845 (the Merry Month).

I have not a word of news to give you. Affairs in the Punjaub are like the waves of the sea, agitated more or less, but not by the wind, but the blast of the mutinous trumpets of the rabble army. I hope we may have a slap at it, because I rely upon Sir Henry Hardinge desiring to give me a command, which I firmly believe Sir Hugh Gough would not oppose, for I never got on smoother with any of my generals, and he is as warm-hearted a fellow as ever breathed, and does right and acquits himself manfully to the extent of the powers the Lord has bestowed upon him.

I am glad to observe the English feeling which strikes at so condemnable a system as that of opening letters. I would rather fight to put down a Revolution arising from private correspondents than cock a pop-gun to maintain so nefarious a breach of all public and private confidence. We are in danger enough from the Mesmerites telling us in a deep sleep what is going on in the next room (a three-feet wall intervening), without having recourse to the other side of a thin sheet of paper.

Juana’s health is capital, thank God, but I am never half so well in the hills as on the plains. Nothing can be more beautiful than our situation, but I love the winter gallops on the plains as flat as the Bedford level.

Simla, 24th Aug. 1845.

By the last mail’s papers, as well as by your letter, I see that dear Sir James Kempt was at the Waterloo Dinner, and I have this day written to congratulate him.

The way in which the Duke, dear old and modern hero, drank his health was truly flattering to Sir James and most gratifying to all his many and faithful friends. But I really wish some of the glories of the _Peninsula_ were occasionally commemorated by such fêtes. Many of the battles are superior to Waterloo in the annals of the art of war; but not being succeeded by such momentous political results to all Europe (ah! to the world), they are suffered to dwindle into oblivion. Nor is there a medal on the breast of any cicatrized hero to hand down to posterity the glories and victories of the previous age. History to the educated will do it, but a few petty baubles in possession of the many families of Great Britain would ocularly demonstrate “My grandfather, sire, uncle, or brother achieved this in battle,” and thus the courage and patriotism of the sire would descend on the son.[275]

Every ass in India is covered with medals, though the sum of his fighting does not equal one of _our_ days. The battle of Salamanca was the most scientific the Duke fought, Vittoria in result the greatest, Talavera in slaughter equalled Waterloo,—yet these names and many others are only seen upon the colours of regiments. My old corps, having no colours, has no record of its deeds.

As to writing to Mrs. Holdich, Lord alive, it gives one no trouble, especially when cheered by the happy feeling of doing right. I suppose a million or so of letters go through my hands per annum; one or two more or less is like a drop of water in the ocean or a hogshead in Whittlesea mere.

Headquarters, Simla, 1st Sept. 1845.

Oh that I was in England, partridge-shooting!

My dearest Alice,

—Ah, what a bore! A note from the Commander-in-Chief to prepare a very heavy report, which will take me some hours, when I was anticipating a comfortable talk with my dear sister. With all my writing, however, half an hour makes little difference, although on the most conspicuous part of my writing-desk is pasted in large characters the tenth verse of the ninth chapter of Ecclesiastes.[276]

When shall I enjoy that liberty so pleasing, when emancipated from all the shackles and labours, bars, bonds, and tempers, which business lays on us, and which we have to contend with? Alas! memory takes us by the hand and leads us back to our early haunts, habits, and friends—the flower garden of other years—and points out all the blossoms we may never more behold, although in imagination as beautiful as ever. Still hope encourages us in such sweet sensations and sustains us in the belief there may be some years of quiet and recreation in store for us, surrounded by those we love, and eased of the labours of public life. Many of my old comrades say, “How could you, Harry, get on without something to do?” I laugh, for I am ever busy. I love books and gardens. I am as interested in the growth of a pet plant as in the results of my more arduous labours; and the charm of the word “home” often inspires me to exertion.

Now, dearest Alice, to my report. My head must be full of cannon, musquets, sabres, rations, tents, transport for baggage, sick, lame and lazy, shirts, shoes, pipeclay, tobacco, soap, etc., etc.

Harry.

Left bank of the Sutlej, 28th Dec. 1845.

My dearest Alice,

Your old brother Harry has only a few minutes to say to you and his dear friend Sir James Kempt he has at length in India had an opportunity of distinguishing himself as much as you both could wish, in the three most sanguinary conflicts with the Sikhs, and he with his own hand, the first man in, planted the colour of H.M.’s 50th Regiment on the walls of the headquarter village from which the great battle was named, Ferozeshuhur. A bloody fight it has been, as you will see by the papers. I was with the old 50th hand to hand in their trenches when four battalions of Avitabile’s (so called from having been drilled by that officer) bore down in furious onslaught upon my Division which I now command—two Brigades, H.M.’s 31st and two Native Regiments in one, the 50th and two Native Regiments in the other. In the affair of the 18th my Division took twelve guns and a howitzer; in the great battle, three fine standards; and on the 22nd my Division made a furious charge and completed the victory. I was placed on the night of the 21st in a most critical and perilous position in the very middle of the whole Sikh (though beaten) army, completely surrounded by thousands, and at three o’clock succeeded in drawing off my troops, and received the thanks of Sir H. H.: “Smith, it was your boldness and audacity that _saved_ to us the victory.” Poor old General Sale asked leave on the 18th to serve with me. I gave him a Battalion, at the head of which he received his mortal wound. Our loss has been as great in proportion as in our most bloody fights in the Peninsula. All my Staff were wounded, A.A.G. and A.Q.M.G. in two places. My A.D.C., Eliza Holdich’s son, wounded in the hand, one horse killed, one wounded. Myself and my horses escaped, with the blessing of Almighty Providence, without a scratch. I was in the saddle from half-past two on the morning of the 21st to four o’clock in the afternoon of the 23rd. My dear, dear gallant young friend Somerset received his mortal wound close to me, and fell in my A.D.C.’s arms. Tell Sir James I will send him next mail copy of my report; this, I cannot. I have no clerks as when A.G. Dear Juana is at Meerut, thank God, well out of the way. Your old humbug of a brother’s name _up_ in the army, I do assure you, especially with Sir Henry Hardinge and Sir Hugh Gough. Sir H. H. treats and takes and asks my opinion for as much as it is worth, as my dear, dear friend Sir James would. Heaven bless you, I know this will gratify you and Sir James. So I send this on a thick scrawl of paper. I have not time to read it over.

Harry.

Camp on the Field of Battle, Aloowal, 1st Feb. 1846.

My dearest Alice,

I have only one moment to say I have gained, in a separate command of 2700 cavalry, 32 guns, and 9000 infantry, one of the most glorious battles ever fought in India, driving the enemy over the Sutledge double my numbers, posted in an intrenched camp with 75 guns, 52 of which are at my tent door, the others lost in the passage of the river, or spiked in its bed. Not a gun did they get over. And oh, the fearful sight the river presents! the bodies having swollen float of men, horses, camels, bullocks, etc. Thousands must have perished, many threw away their arms and fled headlong into the broad river and difficult ford. They had about fifty large boats, which added to the confusion. Some of them were sunk, my thirty-two pieces of cannon pounding them all. Never was victory more complete and never was one fought under more happy circumstances, literally with the pomp of a field-day; and right well did all behave. I brought well into action each arm as auxiliary to the other, but see my dispatch, which will be published as soon as you get this. I have not a moment to write. Send this to dear Sir James Kempt, and tell him my being thus distinguished I owe entirely to his friendship and good opinion of me. Send this to him, for I have not a moment to write.

Your brother,
Harry.

_To W. M. Ford, Esq., Staff Surgeon, Chatham._

Headquarters, Simla, 4th May, 1846.

The enemy we have had to contend with lately are proper varmint fellows, and had they been commanded by Massena’s, Ney’s, Soult’s, Augereau’s victors, they would have made us look sharp to have victor’d them. I never saw men shot out of trees before. At Moodkee the bold rascals got into trees, shot our fellows in the rear, at first without our knowing where the shot came from, but when we discovered the _where_, it was the most extraordinary thing I ever saw to see half a dozen fellows out of each tree come rolling down like cock pheasants or capercailzie. When repulsed from their guns and position, they would sometimes throw down their musquets and come on sword and target (they all carry excellent swords) like antient Greeks.