The Sikh army was known to be superior in every way to any army we had yet met in India, both in training and in material. There were a considerable number of foreign officers in the employ of the Sikhs, and the men had a high reputation, which they maintain to this day, of being equal to the best material of which any army, whether European or Asiatic, can boast. Of its numbers at that time we had no accurate estimate. The Chief Political Officer, Major Broadfoot, who fell gloriously at Ferozeshah, reported that it consisted of upwards of 100,000 men, and that the Sikh plan of campaign was to invade British India with two powerful armies of 50,000 each--with the one to overwhelm Littler at Ferozepore, with the other to attack Wheler at Ludhiana. Fortunately for us, at the moment when their services and their friendly co-operation were most needed, both the Governor-General and the Commander-in-Chief were on the spot. The Governor-General, Sir Henry Hardinge, was a soldier of renown. He had served with Moore at Corunna, had rallied the men at Albuera with the now historic saying, "Die hard, my men--die hard!" and had lost an arm at Ligny, when attached to Blücher's army, the day before Waterloo. The Commander-in-Chief was a well-known fighter, and the forerunner of a family of equally heroic men. Sir Hugh Gough was an old comrade of the Governor-General's. He, too, had fought throughout the Peninsular War, but he had won his spurs at the capture of the Cape of Good Hope in 1805. At Barrosa under Graham, at Tarifa under Skerret, and in many a hard tussle under Wellington, Gough and the 87th (Royal Irish Fusiliers) had won imperishable renown. He had in more recent days shown himself as good a leader of an army as he had been commander of a regiment. In the China War of 1842 he had paved the way for the victory at Maharajpore. With two such soldiers in the field, the Khalsa army, despite its numbers, its organization, and the bravery of its men, was likely to meet its match.