both strategical and tactical, was all an accident. Mr. Robert Rait, in his biography of Lord Gough, puts forward the view held by the ardent admirers of the gallant old man, while those who may not, perhaps, admit the full claim for prescience and generalship are quite content to feel that results fully justified measures, and that at any rate the bulk of the criticism came from unworthy or misinformed sources. To a student of the conditions of the army in India in those days, it is clear that the army itself was not a machine from which the best results could be obtained. It was not from financial reasons an army in being,' for its essential services were not on a mobilizable business footing. The native portion of the Bengal Army was fast going down the scale of efficiency. The two Services-the Queen's and the Company'swere by no means cordial as a general rule. The troops were not trained as an army for war, and troops, commanders, and staff were for the most part untrained in their war formations.

However that may be, we have now reached the stage in the narrative when we may leave controversy and criticism behind and step out into that magnificent panorama that faced the army of the Punjab, on that spring morning in Northern India, sixty-four years ago.

Of all the glorious mornings which it is the privilege of mankind to enjoy, a fine morning in the cold season in the Punjab is second to none. Those who now journey to the North by the early train from Lahore or march up the Grand Trunk Road from Wazirabad (as we now can write it) pass Goojerat and see the same sight as burst on that army, less, however, the splendid panoply of war and the excitement of coming battle. From the railway line which runs North to Peshawur, and from the Great Trunk Road, the turnpike of the King-Emperor, as from the British bivouacs by Shadiwal, stretch the plains of the Chajh Doab, almost unbroken save for the young corn-shoots of the wheat-fields, with the typical Punjab villages rising at intervals across the plain. Rising, because each village emerges from the ruins of its predecessor, generation in, generation out, since the days when Alexander came down from the passes and Prince Gautama preached his message of peace. On the potsherds and plinths of the past each village stands, a castle unto itself. Distant some three miles, the small town of Goojerat towered high over the plain in the morning sun, but behind it, glory of glories, stood as it still stands, so close that you might think you could throw a stone to it, the great

Pir Panjal, the unbroken line of snow that forms the outer Himalaya. Peak on peak, serrated, dazzling, clear cut, with a breeze blowing from it, fit to stir every pulse in the men of the Northern races, white or brown, that felt it, such was the setting of the crowning victory.'

The British were under arms in the bitter, raw cold of the dawn, ere the rising sun bathed the peaks in red, and by half-past seven commenced to advance in fighting formation, the three divisions of the army in line. The actual troops that were present were the two divisions that had taken part in the battle of Chillianwallah, with the troops from Mooltan added. There had been, however, some change in the commanders. The order of battle' of the army was as follows:

The cavalry had hitherto been formed into four brigades, but for the battle the 3rd Brigade was merged in Hearsey's and the whole under Sir J. Thackwell were brigaded as follows: 1st Brigade (White), four regiments; 2nd Brigade (Lockwood), two regiments; 4th Brigade (Hearsey) one regular and five irregular corps. The 5th and 6th Light Cavalry from White's and Lockwood's Brigades, and the 45th and 69th N.I. from McLeod's and Carnegie's Brigades, formed the reserve and baggage guard, together with the Bombay Light Field Battery. The brigades consisted only of infantry, the artillery of the army remained as what we should now call army troops,' under Brigadier-General J. Tennant, to be distributed as required on the day of battle. The exact number of guns is somewhat a matter of controversy, but it was probably eighty-eight. The actual troops and batteries present were nine troops of horse artillery, four light field batteries, and eighteen heavy guns distributed in four batteries. These latter were under the subordinate command of Brigadier Huthwaite. The doubt as to the exact number of guns is due to a want of clear record

as to whether they were all at full strength after the losses at Chillianwallah and the formation of certain detachments.

The 4th troop in each brigade in the Bengal Horse Artillery was a native troop, and there were three native troops on the field. The light artillery was chiefly horse artillery. The troops of Warner, Duncan, and Huish were with the cavalry, the remainder distributed among the divisions, except Lane and Kindleside, who were at first in reserve.

The sappers and pioneers were commanded by Captain Siddons, Brigadier Cheape being the chief engineer with the army.

This battle, which we have now arrayed, was the last to be fought in India under the old conditions of dress and manœuvre. The last of the carefully dressed battle lines, with markers out. The last appearance of coatee and shakoe, and white cross belts, at any rate on the British side. The age of sun helmets and khaki, and cotton coats, and utility was approaching, and the Crimea was to lay the ghost of General Pipeclay. It was the last appearance of the staff in long blue frock coats, the last of the old panorama. It is true that Tombs' troop of horse artillery marched out of Meerut to the battles on the Hindun, and the siege of Delhi, one sultry morning in May of '57 in their brass helmets and dress jackets, but that passed to shirt-sleeves in no time. Even marching out, Tombs tore the high red collars from off the horse artillery jackets lest his men die of heat-stroke, and some even then thought the end of the world was coming therefore. But Goojerat was the last to see it en masse.

The army was drawn up in the grey of the morning in the following order :

On the right. The 1st Division, Harvey's Brigade in the front line, Markham's in rear in support.

In the centre. The 2nd Division, both brigades in line.

On the left centre.-The 3rd Division, McLeod's and Carnegie's Brigades in front, Hoggan's in support.

On the left.--Dundas' Bombay Brigade.

Thackwell's and White's Cavalry Brigades were on the left again, with Lockwood's and Hearsey's Brigades on the right. The artillery was for the most part distributed among the brigades between the intervals.

The British right was covered by the Chenab, and the Sikh left by a wet nullah which ran into that river. Parallel to the line of advance, and running through the centre of the British advance

and the Sikh position, was a dry nullah. A dry nullah of the Punjab will be familiar to many. Here and there a pool sheltering a snipe or two, a teal or an old drake mallard, steep at the bends on one side and sloping grass on the other, with an odd mimosa-tree now and again,and a few sand-hillocks with jerboa rats scampering about, just the everyday terrain of the plain. Then again, over the valley of the Chenab, flights of Kunj or coulon or of wild geese disturbed by the troops wheel and return . . . just a peaceful morning scene with here and there a Gujar maiden with her goats. Then, in front of the British, the rising mound and high brick tenements of Goojerat, with the cluster of mud-houses below and reddening wall of snow behind. A mile in front of the town stood the village of Kalra Kalan, or Great Kalra, also called Burra Kalra, and a mile or so to the right Kalra Khurd, or Little Kalra, also called Chota Kalra, another village on the bank of the wet nullah. The main Sikh position was reported as running straight across the plain between the wet and dry nullahs, with its right thrown back along the dry nullah, and its left in the village of Little Kalra. Great Kalra was held as an advanced post in advance of this position, which was between three and four miles in length. The greater portion of the Sikh and Afghan horse were stationed out on the Sikh right on the far side of the dry nullah. The Sikh forces, regular and irregular, were estimated at some 60,000, with sixty guns; the British numbered 20,000, with eighty-eight guns.

At half-past seven in the morning, with the sun above the horizon and the whole panorama standing out in all its glory, the British army moved forward. It presented an appearance such as is only now to be seen at some big review. The troops in their British scarlet or blue, great masses of quarter-columns, with a forest of bayonets a-top, lines of moving guns, masses of formed horse, white belts and clean accoutrements catching the sun at every point. Pipe-clayed belts are an evil, no doubt, so great that no one dare say anything in their favour, but in the days when men fought in serried rank, and success meant the timely onward movement of masses of men into the teeth of belching guns, the psychical bond that this meticulous attention to trivialities undoubtedly called into being was of very genuine import. Even to this day the corps that are known to be always trustworthy are as neatly dressed and accoutred, though the cleaning process is simpler, than in those days of white belts and scarlet and gold in the field. As the white chalk-line will hypnotise the fowl, so did the white

belts exercise over men's minds a discipline of a nature that suited many of the conditions of the day.

So the three British divisions, with their attendant arms and services, moved forward at a steady pace, and as they moved those on the left and centre heard a curious rising sound away on the right. It was Lord Gough coming down the line in his well-known fighting coat (a white coat that covered his general's frock, and showed the world where to find him). The Commander rode and the soldiers cheered, cheered like mad for love of the little man and for other reasons. Cheer because it is good to raise a wave of enthusiasm when it is to be bayonet and round-shot. Good to cheer because it has been cold and dreary waiting in the grey dawn and nerves are not at their best, also it is good to think, what you had really began to doubt, that you are a fine fellow ready to do anything, and so forth. And so the army cheered heartily, and felt the better for it, and as the Chief rode along the cheering rolled along the line, and borne on the breeze did, no doubt, assist to remind the Khalsa army of what the survivors had said of Sobraon. There are many, no doubt, who will remember just such a cheer spreading round the camps at Modder river when Lord Roberts rode round on his arrival there. That cheer also voiced various emotions, for armies are entities that only the skilled player can work on.

When the moving line had reached the village of Hariawallah, on the banks of the dry nullah, the Sikh gunners caught sight of the gun-elephants of the heavy batteries, and, their nerves being not quite at the old standard, opened a distant fire, which was not their wont .This revealed what had not been precisely known— viz., the exact locality of their main positions and of their batteries. At nine o'clock, when the British infantry were still out of range, the line halted and the British artillery now moved to the front. For two and a half hours the army possessed its soul in patience, while the guns hammered down the heavy Sikh metal and trundled round-shot through their reserves. That is one of the good points of the old round-shot artillery. If you did not hit what you aimed at, the ball went on, loblolly, with a hop and a skip, now taking off a leg, now trundling a lane through a column of horse, and till its last momentum was spent it had a power for evil. spattering shrapnel and the high explosive shell. burst they lie.

Not so the Where they

As the sun stood at high twelve Lord Gough rushed two of the lighter batteries forward in the centre, close to the village of Great Kalra, and ordered General Gilbert to occupy that village. The