advance of these guns drew a tremendous fire from some Sikh batteries behind it, and a heavy musketry fire burst out from its walls (it had been imagined unoccupied) and the neighbouring hamlet of Kot Kalra. The 2nd Bengal Europeans from Penny's Brigade advanced to the storm, and finally captured the bigger village, but with very heavy loss, indeed the principal casualties of the day occurred here. With Kalra taken, the whole line pushed on, its guns moving with it, and the next severe piece of work was in front of Little Kalra (or Khurd Kalra) on the British right. This village was also strongly held and was carried by Harvey's Brigade, the 10th Foot leading, which likewise suffered heavily. Against our left, an attempt was now made to make a strong counter attack, by the large masses of Ghorcherras (Sikh irregular horse) and Afghans supported by the Sikh infantry, from the bed of the dry nullah. This was, however, met by Campbell's Division, charged by the Scinde Horse and 9th Lancers, and pounded by Ludlow's field battery (No.5), till it died away, and by one o'clock, without more resistance, the town of Goojerat, the whole of the Sikh position and their camps, were in our hands.

During the latter part of the advance our right flank had been constantly threatened by the enemy's horse, and Hearsey's irregulars had made several charges. The moment that the Sikhs made off they were pursued by the whole of the cavalry, who moved in two columns, Hearsey and Lockwood following the enemy towards Bhimbur on the Rampur Tawi, and the cavalry under Thackwell driving them towards the Jhelum. Late in the afternoon the two cavalry bodies joined forces and returned to camp.

The Sikhs left fifty-three guns on the battle-field, and during the next two days eighteen more were recovered. The British loss consisted of ninety killed, including five British officers, and 700 wounded. The Sikh loss is not known, but the victory had been in every way satisfactory. The movements had been straightforward and simple, each division had been able to carry out its allotted part, and the artillery had been admirably served and had been superior to the usually heavy Sikh metal. The story of the housetop, to which Lord Gough was confined by his staff hiding the ladder, has long been exploded. It was just one of those stories that appeal to the British. It reflected no opprobrium on the Commander in the eyes of the army, they loved to think of 'Paddy' Gough as a fire-eater and a salamander, longing to hurl himself at the head of his line of bayonets at the enemy without waiting while the artillery beat down some of the opponent's power of resistance.

The story has many versions in different guise. Some said that it was Henry Lawrence who had urged the Chief to use his artillery more, others that George Lawrence, when he came in from the Sikhs where he had been a prisoner, told him that the Sikhs also wondered why he did not use his guns. It is on record, too, that the Governor-General urged giving the artillery opportunity to produce an effect before commencing the advance to the attack. While we know on the recorded testimony of his staff, that Lord Gough was not kept from ordering an early attack by the device in the story, it is quite probable that the recommendations regarding the use of the artillery were made, but it does not thereby follow that they were necessary. The constitutional advisers of a commander are his staff, or rather the heads of its branches. In this case no doubt the branch of the staff concerned assisted in the preparation of the battle plans. No doubt, also, the artillery commanders were asked to give their views. It is absurd to suppose that these advisers did not as in duty bound recommend the due use of their artillery, and press for it should the Commander-in-Chief be inclined not to fully develop its powers. But these are all the inner workings of the machine, and a commander's action only becomes his defined policy as a result of the inner working of a machine organised for that end. To discuss it as it has been discussed in the past is to labour a trivial point. We do know that the enemy offered battle in the open, and that the British attacked in great order, using the full power of their augmented artillery, and that a crowning victory was won, which once and for all decided who was to rule in the plains of Upper India.

There are several well-known coloured prints that deal with the battle showing it as it was before the final advance, with the commanding town of Goojerat and the snowy background, and the British army formed in line for battle. One, by Lieutenant Simpson of the 29th Foot, shows the whole scene with what must be very great accuracy. It is at the stage when the artillery is in front of the main British line pounding the Sikh line, and the infantry reformed in long lines in rear. It is viewed from the rear of the centre of Gilbert's Division, with Burra Kalra to the right front. The party of Afghan horse, who succeeded in breaking through flanking cavalry, and who nearly got at the Commander-in-Chief himself, are shown in the foreground, and one is cutting at the defenceless lead-driver and coverer of an ammunition waggon belonging to a native troop of horse artillery. The N.C.O. is protecting his

head with his right arm. Out in front are the heavy guns, and what is probably Dawes' light field battery (No. 17). The fortified walls and bastions of Goojerat are visible in rear of the Sikh line and away behind is the panorama of the snows. Another picture, from a drawing by Lieutenant Archer of the 24th Foot, shows the same division (Gilbert's) advancing in quarter-column after the Sikhs had broken. They are close on the town of Goojerat, and the Sikh camp. Both these prints have sister pictures of the battle of Chillianwallah.

The casualties of the battle in proportion to the numbers engaged and the importance of the victory were comparatively few, far less than in all previous battles with the Sikhs. They were, however, heavy in certain units, Penny's Brigade, both the European and native corps, losing heavily in front of Burra Kalra, and Harvey's Brigade in front of the Chota Kalra. Thus the 2nd Bengal Europeans lost one officer and eight men killed, and five officers and 137 men wounded with three missing; while the 71st Native Infantry lost eleven men killed and one British officer, and 131 native officers and men wounded. The 10th Foot and 8th Native Infantry had considerable casualties also. It was to a great extent an artillery battle, and the artillery losses were heavy, especially in Fordyce's and MacKenzie's troops. The artillery losses were two British officers and twenty-seven of all ranks killed, and one British officer and eighty-two of other ranks wounded. The casualties among the artillery horses and gunbullocks were 127.

So much for the battle itself. Immediately it was over as has been stated, the cavalry took up the pursuit, and inflicted considerable loss. It is recorded that the men felt very acutely the cruel slashing to death of the wounded as they lay out in the scrub after Chillianwallah (pitiful stories of this are told in Archer's narrative, including the horrible cruelties to a wounded drummer boy), and the cavalry were out for vengeance. The next day General Gilbert started with a selected force in pursuit of the remainder, viâ the Khoree Pass, gradually overtaking guns and formed bodies, till finally, on the 16th of March, the whole of the Sikh army gave up its guns and surrendered its arms at Rawal Pindi. A further force had pursued the Afghan allies of the Sikhs across the Indus and into the Khyber, the last Afghan being back into his own country exactly one month after the battle of Goojerat.

Then followed the annexation of the Punjab, and the gradual VOL. XXXIV.-NO. 201, N.S.

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settling down of the country, with the hasty apportioning of temporary cantonments and the getting of the men under cover before the approaching fury of a Punjab summer. How the army of all ranks groused' and grumbled at the hardships and changes of the next twelve months is another story, and we may leave the triumphant and vindicated Commander-in-Chief to settle these matters and prepare for the relinquishing of his command after having taken his army victorious through the two Sikh campaigns, and the short decisive Gwalior campaign. Hindustan from Cape Comorin to the Afghan border now acknowledged the British to be the paramount power, and there remained no external enemy to fear at all. So, as many had prophesied, with or without reason, the army had eventually to fight itself, when the native army of Bengal itself blew up, taking with it some of its neighbours.

The story of the arrival of Sir Charles Napier, hastily despatched when the misconception and heavy losses of Chillianwallah had stirred men's minds, must be referred to. It was, of course, a great blow to Lord Gough to feel that he had been superseded, however much the Government might try and disguise the pill. It was, too, especially inconvenient since the season of the year prevented him leaving India for some months after he had handed over his command. The old hero had to remain on in Simla till the autumn, before making what proved to be a triumphal progress down the country. The difficult relations which such a position might easily have produced seem to have been admirably avoided by all concerned, and when the old soldier finally got home, his reception was all that he could have wished for.

The troops taking part in the campaign received the 'Punjab' medal with clasps for Mooltan, Chillian wallah and Goojerat. The second of these was only granted on the very urgent demand of Lord Gough, who successfully combated the view that Chillianwallah was anything else but a victory, and the preparation for the 'Crowning mercy.' The medal inscribed To the Army of the Punjab' had on the reverse a representation of the Sikh Sirdars laying down their arms to Sir Walter Gilbert, behind whom is shown the army drawn up in line. It is worn with a dark blue ribbon with yellow edges. Is, because a score or so of those who stood foursquare to the storm, on the plains of Chillianwallah and Goojerat, still answer to their names throughout the length and breadth of the Empire. The remainder rest from their labours.

G. F. MACMunn.

EMOTIONS IN STONE.

It is not in all moods that I love our northern Gothic cathedrals. Their majesty indeed always appeals to me. I never enter Westminster Abbey, for instance-I never even view it from the outside -without being deeply impressed, but the impression is sometimes a disquieting, often almost a painful, one. Pillars and arches reach heavenward. The whole mass of stonework climbs to dim, divine heights; but it does so at the cost of ceaseless stress, almost unbearable effort. Doubtless this is an expression of one part of the spirit of Christianity and is altogether right in a Christian church. 'Strait is the gate. Narrow is the way. Strive to enter in.' The crucifix, which is the consecrated type of the agony of all lofty spiritual life, is fittingly placed in these buildings. They, with their straining aisles and labouring buttresses, express the ceaseless effort of the life modelled on The Imitation of Christ,' the life which finds its inspiration in the cross itself. It is inevitable that there should be times in which it seems too terrible a thing to live under the shadow of such emotion, moods in which the superb stress of such high calling is intolerable. We look to Christ to give us some other message as well as this.

There is also a feeling-I have experienced it when standing in the nave of Notre Dame-that demons are lurking in the shadows. I am sure that the men who built these great temples felt this. Their gargoyles were not mere grotesques, untimely outbreaks of an irrepressible comic spirit. They were images of genuine terror. They represented haunting devils, the Peor and Baalim of Milton's poem, the spirits of the old detestable deities who found their place in the theology of St. Athanasius, with whom St. Anthony fought desperate battles in their last strongholds. I do not like being demon-haunted. I cannot but believe in them; but I should wish rather to worship in bright sunlit spaces where there is no fear of grinning monsters with iron claws leaping at me out of shadows. I am not Albert Dürer's knight. I cannot ride on unmoved while grim horrors dog my steps.

But chiefly, I think, I am repelled at times from these buildings because they oppress me. I am continually conscious of some vast power which overwhelms me. The little, lambent flamings of the human spirit in me are smothered. The utter