for months afterwards even to the Fall of Delhi; but at no time were we
in such a strait as at that period when the loyalty or defection of the
Sikh regiments and people was an open question.

The genius of Sir John Lawrence, the Chief Commissioner of the Punjab,
warded off the danger. That eminent man, the saviour of India, issued a
proclamation calling on the Sikhs to aid us in our trouble. They came
at once in hundreds--nay, thousands--to enlist on our side. Veterans of
Runjeet Singh's Khalsa army, the men who had withstood us on equal terms
in many sanguinary battles, animated by intense hatred of the Poorbeah
sepoy, enrolled themselves in the ranks of the British army, and fought
faithfully for us to the end of the war. Their help was our safety;
without these soldiers, and the assistance rendered by their chieftains,
Delhi could never have been taken; while, on the other hand, had they
risen and cast in their lot with the mutinous sepoys, no power on earth
could have saved us from total annihilation.

The Sikhs are the beau-ideal of soldiers. Tall and erect in bearing,
wiry and well-knit, and of great muscular development, their whole
appearance stamps them as men who look upon themselves as "lords of the
soil," whom it would be difficult to conquer. And without doubt the
campaigns of 1845-46 and 1848-49 were the hardest in which we had been
engaged in India.

For 100 years they had dominated the land of the Five Rivers. Ever eager
for war, their turbulent spirits gave them no rest. It had been a belief
that they would in the future acquire the sovereignty of Hindostan, and
I know for certain that among the soldiers for many years there had been
a tradition that one day they would sack the imperial city of Delhi.