"Excellent sir," said I, "I have;" and that very evening, as we sat
over our cups of tertullia (sangaree), I continued my narrative in
nearly the following words:-

"I left off in the very middle of the battle of Delhi, which ended,
as everybody knows, in the complete triumph of the British arms.
But who gained the battle? Lord Lake is called Viscount Lake of
Delhi and Laswaree, while Major Gaha--nonsense, never mind HIM,
never mind the charge he executed when, sabre in hand, he leaped
the six-foot wall in the mouth of the roaring cannon, over the
heads of the gleaming pikes; when, with one hand seizing the sacred
peishcush, or fish--which was the banner always borne before
Scindiah,--he, with his good sword, cut off the trunk of the famous
white elephant, which, shrieking with agony, plunged madly into the
Mahratta ranks, followed by his giant brethren, tossing, like chaff
before the wind, the affrighted kitmatgars. He, meanwhile, now
plunging into the midst of a battalion of consomahs, now cleaving
to the chine a screaming and ferocious bobbachee, {4} rushed on,
like the simoom across the red Zaharan plain, killing, with his own
hand, a hundred and forty-thr--but never mind--'ALONE HE DID IT;'
sufficient be it for him, however, that the victory was won: he
cares not for the empty honours which were awarded to more
fortunate men!

"We marched after the battle to Delhi, where poor blind old Shah
Allum received us, and bestowed all kinds of honours and titles on
our General. As each of the officers passed before him, the Shah
did not fail to remark my person, {5} and was told my name.

"Lord Lake whispered to him my exploits, and the old man was so