On reaching the breach I found it to be only a small hole, about a yard square and about the same distance from the ground. I was soon in; and as I jumped down, a man of the 93rd was killed close to my side. I also noticed Captain Burroughs bleeding from a bad sabre cut over his head. The interior of the building was full of very tall grass, a path running to the left and another to the right. I chose the latter, and on we ran, Cooper, of the 93rd—who had got through the hole just before me—displaying great gallantry. Captain Lumsden, who had been attached to my regiment as interpreter, was also with me. He was a fine fellow—an Aberdeenshire man; and as he dashed forward, he waved his sword high over his head, cheering on the Highlanders, and calling out to them to fight for the honour of Scotland. As we turned the corner, a large body of the enemy appeared in sight. They did not apparently like the look of us, for they instantly bolted through a passage to our right, which led into a sort of inner court. In a moment we were at them; but poor Lumsden was killed, and Cooper got a cut across the head. I dashed with my men into the court, and found myself face to ace with the rebels, some armed with guns, but most of them with shields and swords, or tulwahs, as they are called in India. They fired a volley directly, at a distance of only ten yards, and knocked my Highland bonnet right off my head, fortunately aiming a few inches too high.

As I was in front I could not see how many of my men fell, but at once attacked with my sword the native who appeared to be the leader. We fought for some little time, but he had a shield which gave him an advantage. He was a tall fellow, with very black eyes, and looked like a Sikh; his sword was slightly curved, and he was completely in white, with a turban. Presently a very fierce looking gentleman, also armed with sword and shield, came to his assistance, and others were close by. This I thought was rather too much of a good thing, as but few of my men were with me; so pulling out my Colt's revolver, I shot the two individuals I have named, and also four others. They were only about a yard off, and as I aimed at the breast, each fell dead immediately. I then called to my Highlanders to go in with the bayonet, and not to waste their fire, for they had been busy with their rifles. In a short time the court was full of dead bodies. Whilst this had been going on a number of the 93rd, tired of waiting to get in one at a time through a small hole, had gone round to the main entrance, where they contrived, after a while, to force the large gate, which had been protected by a sort of curved traverse. The 53rd, too, under Gordon, had succeeded in breaking down the bars of a large window, through which they soon entered. A general slaughter of the rebels therefore now took place, fighting going on all over the building. It was not long after this that I caught sight, in one of the rooms in the Secunder-Bagh, of a large Colour. The room was rather dark, but I could see it quite plain, leaning against the wall. Being determined to capture it, I made for the door, which was open; but no sooner did I try to enter, than two rebels cut at me. A namesake of my own had captured a Colour at the battle of Waterloo. He was a sergeant in the Scots Greys, and was given a commission. Having made up my mind to get this one, I now prepared for a final effort; so going back a few yards, I took a short run; and guarding my head as best I could with my sword, dashed through the doorway. They luckily missed me with their tulwahs; and after killing them both, I seized the Colour, which was heavy, and had a crimson case; having time to observe that my two antagonists were apparently native officers of some sort, being dressed, as far as I could make out, in blue, with gold sword-belts.

The guns proving decidedly troublesome, Stewart proposed to capture them, and, supported by a small party of the 93rd and 53rd, who had readily volunteered to follow him, he dashed forward with great spirit and daring. After a short struggle the attack proved entirely successful, and had the important result of securing the Mess-house, and enabling connections to be formed between this post and the Secundra-Bagh. For this gallant deed Stewart was elected by the officers of the regiment to receive the Victoria Cross. Meanwhile the fighting fiercely raged within the enclosure. The rebels, pressed from point to point, turned at bay and fought with the desperation of despair. Every staircase, corridor, and room was contested. The British were filled with a vengeful desire to bring retribution upon the miscreants for their long record of bloody misdeeds, and the word "Cawnpore" was hissed into many a dying wretch's ear.

Never had the avengers such opportunity as this. There was no chance of flight for the rebels here. This time they would have to fight to the bitter end. Quarter was neither asked nor given. That building was to be the huge sarcophagus of those on the one side or the other. Nor was there long any doubt as to which side would triumph. The power of the British arms was irresistible. Each man fought with a courage and fury which sometimes struck wonder, into the hearts of his opponents, and even paralysed their efforts at resistance. For hours the battle went on, nor did it end while one single rebel stood to level a musket or brandish a tulwar.

"Still," says Malleson, "numbers might have prevailed, when, at the critical moment, the Highlanders, the Sikhs, and the 53rd pressed in to the rescue"—entering by a second breach which had been made in a window on the right, in the vicinity of C. The rebels were now driven back on all sides; but from the towers at the angles of the enclosure they opened a terrific musketry fire, almost at point blank range. This they diversified by occasionally descending and engaging in close hand-to-hand combat; their numbers enabling them to inflict many casualties in the British ranks. Of the whole number who garrisoned the Secundra-Bagh at the commencement of the engagement, it was said that only four escaped, and Colonel Malleson thinks that the escape of even these four is doubtful.

From such a desperate fight it could not be expected that the Highlanders would escape scatheless. Burroughs, Cooper and Ewart, as we have already seen, were wounded early in the action. Lumsden was killed; Captain Dalzell shared his fate. Lieutenant Welch was severely wounded by a musket shot, and Ensign Macnamara received a sword-cut on the head. Donald Murray, the sergeant-major of the regiment, shot dead, had been one of the first to fall; and many of the rank and file were killed and wounded. Of the rewards given to the regiment for their heroic conduct on this occasion, we have already mentioned the Victoria Cross bestowed upon Captain Stewart. Another Victoria Cross was given to Lance-Corporal J. Dunlay, "for being the first man now surviving of the regiment who on the 16th of November 1857, entered one of the trenches of the Secundra-Bagh, at Lucknow, with Captain Burroughs, whom he most gallantly supported against superior numbers of the enemy." Captain Burroughs was also recommended by Colonel Leith Hay for the Victoria Cross—"for individual gallantry in the Secundra-Bagh, being the first who entered one of the breaches, and engaged in personal combat with greatly superior numbers of the enemy, in which he was wounded by a sword-cut."

I have had two very interesting adventures since we came this side of the river Gumti. The first is as follows. I was out with two men just underneath the Daulatkhana: we were out skirmishing, and I had got separated from the rest of my company somehow. Well, I felt very thirsty, so I said to the men, 'Just break open that door and let us see if there is any water in the court.' They did so, and we went into the court. There was a well in it, and we commenced drawing some water, and just as I was drinking, one of the men shouted, 'Look out, sir!' and fired off his musket at one of four men who came rushing out of the house with tulwars in their hands. Luckily it knocked the fellow over, so that our numbers were equal.

I went at one fellow with my sword, and the two men went at the others with their bayonets. Well, they soon polished off their two; but I couldn't manage my chap so soon, as he was, like most of these niggers, a pretty tolerable swordsman. However, I had not quite forgot my lessons at Angelo's, and besides, these niggers can't understand the point; so I waited, not trying to hit my man, but keeping my eye on him (which, by the way, was very necessary, as he danced and jumped about like a madman, now hitting at my right side, then dancing round like lightning at my left).

I gave him a sharp jerking kind of cut on his knuckles, his sword dropped, and I was just going to give him No. 3 through his body, but he picked it up again too sharp for me, and began cutting at me again; but it was of no use, he couldn't hold it, and dropped it again, and he received the long-delayed No. 3 in his stomach. Over he went of course, and I picked up his tulwar and cut off his head very nearly with it. This is the first regular good single combat I have had, and I hope it may not be the last. If I had had a revolver, I could have polished the beggar off at once.

He [MacGregor] joined our regiment a little before the capture of Lucknow, and was attached to my company. You will know what his age was [seventeen and a half years]. He was not by any means a genial companion and we used to consider him of rather a sulky disposition. At mess he would sometimes sit all dinner-time and not say half-a-dozen words; but the moment there was any chance of fighting, it was extraordinary to see the change in his face and manner. It was a very common thing for one of the fellows to come into the tent and say, 'Look out, you fellows, we shall be turned out directly; the enemy are coming on,' just to draw MacGregor. The effect was magical. He immediately became full of smiles, and talked away merrily. He was the only man I ever met on service that I really believe loved fighting. He did not know what fear or danger were.

Lieutenant Charles MacGregor, attached to our regiment, was as usual to the front, and greatly distinguished himself by engaging in single combat with one of the bravest of the rebels, whom he reduced to eternal submission by sending his sword through his body up to its hilt. Brougham says, 'Mac returned looking very warm, and exceedingly wild and happy.'

There are very bad accounts from Lucknow. The 32d Queen's and European officers are besieged by a force of 27,000 men, making the most fearful odds against the Europeans— upwards of twenty-seven to one. However, they'll never give in, and General Havelock is on his way to Lucknow with help. If it is God's will that Edward should not come safely through these dangers, we have the satisfaction of knowing that he will have died the death of a soldier, with his sword in his hand and his face to the foe—that he will have died as a MacGregor should die.

My dearest mother, prepare yourself for the worst concerning Edward's fate. The list of survivors has come; in vain have I looked for the name of MacGregor. 0 God! That I should ever have to write such a thing—to think that poor Edward is cut off, so young, I can't believe it.

When the list came in I hardly dared look at the 41st. When I did, I sat staring at it, at the blank where Lieutenant MacGregor ought to have been. A kind of a chill came over me. I felt the blood fly away from my heart. I threw down the paper, rushed up-stairs, and flung myself on my bed and burst out into loud sobs. I tried to be cool, but I couldn't. Sooner would I have given up my own life than Edward should have suffered. We used to quarrel, but God only knows how I loved him, such a fine generous boy as he was. I used to be so proud of Edward, and now he is under the cold turf. It is His will that it should be so—that we should lose as fine a young fellow as ever breathed. . . .

He was generous, brave, and good-hearted. Oh why was he killed? Why wasn't I at Lucknow and he at Firozpur? . . .

Much better that I should die than such a one as Edward was. We arrived at Cawnpore the day before yesterday. I went off to Captain Saunders, and got dear Edward's sword from him: it was all covered with blood, and the hilt and the scabbard are all dented as if with bullets, showing that it has not remained idle in its sheath, but has drunk the heart's blood of more than one of these fiendish mutineers.

Mrs Robertson gave me an account of her escape from Hissar. One morning, just after breakfast, she heard some firing, but did not think much of it till her ayah rushed into the room and told her to fly, as the sepoys (Hariana Light Infantry) were coming to murder her. She ran out of the house and compound into the compound of a Lieutenant Barwell for safety; but she had hardly got there when about fifty or sixty sepoys came into the compound. She ran and hid herself in the garden under a bush, and while she was there she heard shrieks from the house. In a few minutes Lieutenant Barwell rushed out, dragging Mrs Barwell with a child in her arms. They made for a buggy (Barwell had just come in from breakfasting with another officer), and were just getting in when the sepoys came out of the house and rushed at them. Barwell fought like a lion, shot four men with his own hand, and wounded several others with his sword. He placed Mrs Barwell between the buggy and himself, while he tried to keep the ruffians off; and he was just going to turn to his wife, apparently to tell her to get into the buggy with the child, when he heard a bang behind him. He turned, and saw that a sepoy had got round to the other side and blown his wife's brains out. He caught hold of the child and ran towards the gate; but before he got twenty yards he was shot in the back. He fell, and just before he was murdered himself he saw the hell-hounds take the poor innocent baby, throw it up in the air, and catch it on the points of their bayonets. They then cut off his head with a tulwar.

We killed a lot more, the whole of them behaving in the same disgusting cowardly manner as before: there was perhaps only one exception, and that was a man who came at me. I saw him lying crouching in a ditch, with nothing but his dhotee on. I asked him who he was. He got up on to his knees, put up his hands, and begged his life. I was just going to grant him it, when I saw something blue peeping out from some grass by the side of him. I went up to it, and lo and behold I there was a light cavalry jacket, as perfect as possible, with its orange facings and white trimmings.

Oh ho! my boy, thought I; so you're one of the dashing light cavalry, are you? I called out to a man by me to come and shoot him, as I was not going to let any of these sowars off. All of a sudden the beast jumped up, snatched a tulwar from underneath the grass, and rushed at me. As I was not prepared for him (my back being partly turned to speak to my man), he was on me before I knew where I was, and had given me a cut on the head with his tulwar. I saw the brute's eyes sparkle as he gave the cut, thinking he had done for me, and expecting to see me drop; but thanks to a solali topee, with a good pugree, the blow did not touch my head. I went at him at once, and gave him a cut across his cheek; but my sword not being sharp, it did not floor him as I expected, so I was preparing to give him point 3 in his stomach, when he turned and bolted. I went after him, and instead of giving him the prod in his stomach, gave it him through his back. He fell heavily on my sword, and broke it. I told one of our men to put a bullet through him, which he did. I then went up to look at his jacket to see what regiment he belonged to, and found he belonged to the 2d Light Cavalry— those fiendish beasts that murdered our women and children. You may be sure I was thankful I had polished that fellow off.

I have enlisted a man in my service who is without exception the best rider that I ever saw. He is to teach me some of his feats, and under his tuition I hope to improve wonderfully in horsemanship, and learn to teach it to others. I must learn also the dragoon system of equitation; for though I don't approve of what I know of it, still one ought thoroughly to understand a system before one presumes to find fault with it; and moreover, by learning every system of riding, I shall be able to cull the good points and throw away the refuse. . . .

My ambition is to perfect myself in all the minutiae of my profession, as well as in the grander points— not only to be thought a good officer of cavalry, but the best cavalry soldier in India .I have also, for the last few months, been practising hard at spear and sword exercise on horseback, and can now beat any man in our regiment at either. I have also mastered several other feats of horsemanship. I can jump off a horse at full gallop, and jump on again without stopping him (this only requires nerve). I can jump on to a horse fifteen hands three inches high without catching hold of anything; and only yesterday I jumped on to a horse standing, off the ground on which I was—seventeen hands in one spring—without help from any one. I have been pistol-practising also, but do not succeed well at it. I can put ten bullets running, twenty-five yards off, into a space the size of a man's body, but this is nothing; some men can break a bottle twice out of three times at that distance. I hope to improve.

80 or 90 Tartars rushed from their front to take his guns in flank. On they came, with the most wild and unearthly cries. So unexpected was this attack that Captain Stirling had barely time to fire two rounds of case, when they were within 100 yards of the guns. There was no infantry near, but a guard of twenty-five of Fane's Horse, under the command of Lieutenant MacGregor, was attached to the battery. Now was the time, now the chance to test the Sikhs against the Tartars. Without a moment's hesitation, and regardless of numbers, Lieutenant MacGregor gave the word to charge, and away went the Sikhs in most gallant style. No flinching, no craning; every spur was well in the horse's side, when one-half the Tartars met them in full shock. The effect was instantaneous. One of the leading Sikhs ran his spear right through the body of a Mongol horseman, the head entering at his chest, and going out at his back. The spear broke in the middle: the Mongol fell to the ground spitted, and never moved a limb.

Lieutenant MacGregor singled out his man, and was in the act of spearing him, when another Tartar fired his matchlock within ten yards point-blank. The slugs hit the lieutenant in five places—three lodging in the chest, two in the forehead. For a moment he was blinded by the fire, which burnt his face; but the work was done. The Tartars dispersed in every direction, the whole affair lasting little more than a minute.

I am happy to say that Lieutenant MacGregor is fast recovering from his wounds, which, though severe, are not in the least dangerous. Nothing could be more gallant than his conduct, for he had no supports, and but a handful of men. The Sikhs were delighted with the result, which naturally inspired them with the greatest confidence, and proved their unquestionable superiority over the Tartar cavalry. One of his brother officers, who saw young MacGregor fall to the ground in the fight at Sinho, writes that, at first, they all made sure he had been killed, and one of them exclaimed, on reaching him, "Poor MacGregor's gone, I'm afraid!" whereupon the youth, desperately wounded as he was, cheerfully replied, " No! there's plenty of life in me yet." And again, when the surgeon approached to examine his wounds, which must have been very painful, "This is a nice birthday present they've given me!" he gaily cried, for it happened to be his twentieth birthday.

Yes. I am improving in horsemanship; for the last two months I have never used stirrups, and can sit any horse over a jump without them. To give you an idea of my skill in spear and sword exercise. The other night, when the élite of the regiment were out at this practice, I got a spear and fought with three of them together, and was not once hit, but hit them all, one after the other. With the single-stick I can beat any two men, be they armed with spear or sword. With the spear, riding without a saddle or a blanket, I can beat the pick of the whole regiment, he riding in a saddle. This is nothing to what I hope to do in another year. In the hands of a man who can use it, the spear is a terrible weapon. I should like to have a bout with some of your regular, pipe-clay Lancers. In a future campaign I shall have double chances of distinction, for now I can use my weapons properly, and I have got as good weapons as can be got, and my sword has my mother's blessing.