Never shall I forget the moment when, from a rising ground, the frowning walls of Delhi and the white tents of the besieging force burst into view.
So vast an extent of ground was covered by the huge city--so puny and diminutive in comparison was the encampment which nestled under the famous "Ridge!" Truly a sight to fill the heart with exulting pride; for we knew that the men in these tent were sure, some day before many weeks were over, to storm the formidable walls of the great fortress, and to carry the British flag in triumph into its innermost citadel. No shadow of doubt of the ultimate success of our arms ever troubled any of our minds in those days. The insolent belief in the irresistibility of the _furor Britannicus_ had not then met any of the rude shocks which in latter days have somewhat shaken it, in spite of an army composed of short-service soldiers and of leaders trained to a pitch of theoretical perfection by the Professors of the Staff College.
Directly we arrived in camp I reported myself to Sir Henry Norman, then Assistant Adjutant-General of the Force, and, I think, in rank a captain. In a few hours I was put in orders as attached to the Cavalry of the Guides. The famous forced march of that splendid corps under Daly from Hoti Murdan to Delhi is matter of history, and can never be forgotten. The honourable roll of its losses in officers and men during the siege is recorded on a tablet on the wall of the memorial tower on the Ridge.
I do not propose to inflict on the reader's patience the often-told story of the siege. That task has been performed by far abler pens than mine. It will be sufficient for me to endeavour to sketch two or three of the minor episodes at which I was present, and which seemed to me to be picturesque or interesting.