Next evening we ride out to Rohtak. We are five hundred sowars and ten gora officers. We ride through the night and halt a mile short of Rohtak in the early hours of the morning. We have our chai and feed our horses. When the sun comes up, we are ready for battle. Half-an-hour later, the town gates open and out pours a stream of horsemen armed with muskets and swords. They charge towards us.

Hodson Sahib orders us to retreat. We gallop back half-a-mile. The fellows think we are running away. They chase us yelling ‘Ali, Ali.’ When they are almost on us Hodson Sahib gives the command: ‘Turn about and at them.’ We wheel round. We unsling our carbines and fire a volley. Fifty of them topple down. Then we charge them with our lances. They break ranks and scatter. Only a handful are manful enough to face us. I see with my own eyes how my Sahib really loves fighting. He draws his talwar, gallops up to one of the fellow and challenges him to single-handed combat. The fellow slashes, lunges and backs away. The Sahib parries his blows. ‘Try again—is this all you’ve learnt about swordsmanship?’ shouts my Sahib. When the other has had his try, my Sahib strikes one blow that cuts the fellow in two halves. Then he takes on another. Then a third one. ‘Wah! Wah! Hodson Sahib. Wah! Wah! You are one in a hundred thousand!

We slay over three hundred of the enemy for the loss of only two.

By the evening we are back on the Ridge. So is Nicholson Sahib. He gave that Bareilly General, Bakht Khan, such a thrashing at Najafgarh that he ran back whimpering like a dog with its tail between its legs.

Now Wilson Sahib Bahadur has no excuse to say ‘Tomorrow.’ The gora paltan from the Punjab marches in with all the guns we need. They are hauled into position and start firing. Within a few hours the city wall looks as if it has had an attack of small-pox. It has to be blown up before we can launch the big attack. This is left to our Mazhabi Sikhs. What courage the great Guru has given these poor Mazhabis! They go out one night with bags of gunpowder. Just as they are nearing the wall, rebel snipers spot them. Its too late to run back so one fellow charges forward with the bag in his arms. Thah! He falls. Two others run up, pick up the charge and carry it a few steps forward. Thah! Thah! Both are killed. A fourth Mazhabi runs up, picks up the bundle and takes it still closer to the wall. In this way forty brave sons of the Guru lay down their lives. But it is the ambrosial hour of the dawn and the great Guru blesses their task with success. The charge is placed beneath the wall and fired: Bharam! The loudest bharam you can have ever heard! The earth trembles. A section of the wall comes crashing down The breach is wide enough to let five pairs of oxen with ploughs pass through.