an Indian army can form any conception of the weird aspect of such a scene. The expiring fires round which the shivering camp-followers congregate, the roaring of the camels, the babel of tongues, the heavy tramp of the troops as they move off, form incidents that cannot be found together in any other army. The number of camp-followers, too, is legion, while the dark forms of the elephant-contingents add a mysterious character to this moving mass of dusky warriors. As the day breaks, the scene changes. The long lines of camels, the troops in column of route, the grey-headed Subahdár and the light-hearted ensign, all remind us that we are in India. Though many battle-scenes have been depicted in Europe, India for many reasons is to the artist a sealed book. No country is so fertile in picturesque incident, none so glorious in colour and atmospheric effect.
It was on such a morning that the army marched to Wadní on December 16th. Sir Harry Smith was in command of the leading Division, when it was reported that the Sikhs had moved forward with the object of cutting off our supplies. The report was, to a certain extent, correct; for on arriving under the walls of the fort at Wadní, resistance was threatened and grain refused. This was but for a moment. The Horse Artillery, with their horsehair helmets and heavy jack-boots, were sent to the front, and, unlimbering. were about to open fire, when discretion proved the better part of valour, and the supplies were forthcoming. The fort, however, still held out;
