He had died the previous day--'a martyr to duty,' as the Commander-in-Chief expressed it in his General Order.

The brave old soldier, who had served with distinction in four campaigns before the Mutiny--Burma, Afghanistan, Gwalior, and the Sutlej--was buried inside the Alambagh enclosure, respected and honoured by the whole army, but more especially by those who had shared in his noble efforts to rescue the Lucknow garrison.
A wash and change of clothes, in which we were now able to indulge, were much-appreciated luxuries.

From the time we had left the Alambagh every officer and man had been on duty without cessation, and slept, if they slept at all, on the spot where the close of day found them fighting.
It was a rough experience, but, notwithstanding the exposure, hard work, and a minimum of sleep, there was no great sickness amongst the troops.

The personal interest which every man in the force felt in the rescue of his countrymen and countrywomen, in addition to the excitement at all times inseparable from war, was a stimulant which enabled all ranks to bear up in a marvellous manner against long-continued privations and hardships--for body and mind are equally affected by will--and there was no doubt about the will in this instance to endure anything that was necessary for the speedy achievement of the object in view.

Personally, I was in the best of health, and though I almost lived on horseback, I never felt inconvenience or fatigue.
The 25th and 26th were busy days, spent in allotting camp equipage and making the necessary arrangements for fitting out Outram's force--4,000 strong, with 25 guns and howitzers and 10 mortars.
At 11 a.m.on the 27th we started on our return march towards Cawnpore.[1] It was a strange procession.