A JOYFUL SURPRISE.

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large head, covered with hair of a reddish auburn, shall I say?-moustaches and beard still lighter, and features and eyes such as no native that ever I saw possessed, He was dressed in some sort of blue uniform tunic-that of the Volunteer Cavalry, I believe -white cords, and jack-boots, and felt helmet, and was well armed-heavy sabre and pistols. He is open, frank, and free in manner; and I believe those grand covenanted gentlemen who did not mention his name in any of their Lucknow reports, regard him as "not one of us." But Mr. Kavanagh may console himself. He has made himself famous by an act of remarkable courage-not in the heat of battle, or in a moment of impulse or excitement, but performed after deliberation, and sustained continuously through a long trial. If the Victoria Cross were open to civilians (and why should it not be ?) there is no one who deserves it better than this gentleman. And, indeed, I believe, from his conversation to-day, that the hope of wearing it was one of the main-springs of his devotion. He left wife and children in the garrison, and went out on his desperate errand, which, even to the sanguine, seemed hopeless.

A joyful surprise! This evening comes a native trooper into camp with a chitty for "Russell Sahib Bahadoor," and with what was more important still, a certain white mare, saddle, bridle, and all, which had been found near Bunnee grazing, yesterday, and was sent over to me by Captain Carnegie. The saddle alone was worth its weight in gold.

At dinner, orders are ready for us to march at daybreak to-morrow. Wilkin, of the 7th Hussars, who is dining with me, is summoned to fall in with his

regiment soon after midnight. As we get near the place, we hear great reports of the enemy's strength. There are, it is said, at least 60,000 regulars of all sorts, and about 70,000 nujeebs, militia, and matchlockmen. All the great chiefs of Oude, Mussulman and Hindoo, are there, and have sworn to fight for their young king, Birjies Kuddr, to the last. Their cavalry is numerous, the city is filled with people, the works are continually strengthened. All Oude is in the hands of the enemy, and we only hold the ground we cover with our bayonets.

CHAPTER XVI.

March for Lucknow.-A vision.-Jellalabad.-Sepoy skeletons.— An old Sikh officer.-Sergeant Gillespie.-Site of our new camp. The Martinière.-The Dilkoosha.-A breach of etiquette.-View from the roof of the Dilkoosha.-The enemy's trenches. A round shot.-Striking beauty of Lucknow.-A young langour.-Visitors and guests.

March 3rd. With heavy guns, Highlanders and Head-Quarters' departments marched from Buntheerah for Lucknow this blessed fresh morning. How pleasant it is to get free! I recalled the sensations of our first reconnaissance in the Crimea, when we got out of the mud and into the sweet grass and fresh flowers. Mr. Kavanagh had my white mare; and I succeeded in borrowing a less lively creature, at which I was much rejoiced, when I saw Mr. Kavanagh now rushing furiously past the column, now performing the more intricate manœuvres of the manège unwittingly, and as full of anxiety for his seat as a member with an election petition against him. * * * *

A VISION.

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As I think of it now, it seems a vision-a waking dream! For some days I wrote no entries in my diary; and all that I could write was sent to another place," and so I can only trust to memory for that morning march. First, a sea-like plain of sandy soil,

which looks much as the ocean does, when seen from the deck of a ship under a dark grey sky. In a right line across this plain, a stream of infantry, cavalry, and cannon, guarded by sailors, and drawn by many oxen, stretches away to a black point on the horizon, which is just fretted by a border of trees. Then patches of tall sugar-cane, towards which our flankers, looking like dots on the surface, ride exploringly; then groves of trees like islands; beyond, by the side of a large lake, a solitary fort, with crumbling bastions, on which, however, glance the bayonets of our sentries. This is Jellalabad; the extreme point held by the garrison of Alumbagh. The engineers have filled it with their stores. More than once the enemy have assailed it; their scaling-ladders lie about in the brushwood. See: there is a skeleton in the remnants of a sepoy's uniform. Why does that officer ride his horse over the bones? Brave men do not war with the dead. Thence we come to thick woods, through which our road winds out to more open country. Far away, above a field of wide-spread cane, we see a white tower. That is part of the Alumbagh. We pass under the walls of Jellalabad, and through more woods; once more we come upon a plain where skeletons are lying with red rags sticking round them-sepoys killed by Outram's cavalry in some skirmish between his post and Jellalabad. Then the column halts and closes up, and the campfollowers creep close in to us. Amid the high grass and under the trees on our left, we see white figures moving; they are the enemy's sowars.

Stewart and I push on the front, and find the head of our column halted at a narrow wooded lane, close

AN OLD SIKH OFFICER.

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to which there is one of the enemy's field-works to cover a couple of guns, which Sir Colin probably disposed of yesterday. The lane opens on a plain, which is skirted on the left by woods and sugar-cane cates. It is quite uncultivated, full of deep dry watercourses and nullahs cut in the stony surface. No one knows where the chief is not a soul is to be seen. We must be close to Lucknow, and still closer to the Lord. Sahib's camp; but the extreme end of the plain in front of us is a rise which conceals everything from our view. Presently a clump of lances appears on the brow, and a small body of cavalry appear on the ridge, and makes over towards us, led by two officers. As they approach I recognized Johnson, who was coming to look for the heavy guns, and to guide the column. "The chief's camp is about a mile ahead. I will give you my sowars; make the best of your way across the open ground, for the enemy have horse and foot in the cates and woods on your left." Stewart and I at once started off at a sling trot, followed by an old Sikh officer and some dozen of lancers, and as we went along, the old Sikh, stroking his beard, which flowed almost down to his saddle, told us tremendous fibs-"How the Lord Sahib had taken the Dilkoosha, the Martinière, and was half-way into Lucknow. How the Sikhs and Artillery had slaughtered many hundreds of the budmashes and taken all their guns; and how he and his men had swept their sowars to Hades.” He was a noble-looking old economist of the truth; and his men were the wildest, finest-looking fellows possible part of Probyn's detachment of Punjaubee Irregulars (Watson's?).