In his reminiscences of India[1] Mr. R. G. Wilberforce states that the Sikhs declared they would raise a Taj to Nicholson, beside which the famous Golden Taj at Umritsur should be as nought, did he but openly profess their religion. "During the time that Nicholson was with the column," he continues, writing of the days before the march to Delhi, "it was a common sight of an evening to see the Sikhs come into camp in order that they might see him. They used to be admitted into his tent in bodies of about a dozen at a time. Once in the presence, they seated themselves on the ground and fixed their eyes upon the object of their adoration, who all the while went on steadfastly with whatever work he was engaged in, never even lifting his eyes to the faces of his mute worshippers." [Illustration: "They seated themselves on the ground and fixed their eyes upon the object of their adoration."] "Sometimes, overcome perhaps by prickings of conscience, or carried away by feelings he could not control, one of them would prostrate himself in prayer. This was an offence against the committal of which warning had been given, and the penalty never varied: three dozen lashes with the cat-o'-nine-tails on the bare back." With Chuttur Singh's open revolt the second Sikh War had fairly begun. Nicholson was now more and more in demand, doing guerilla service, or engaged in such useful work as collecting boats for Sir Joseph Thackwell to cross the Chenab River and acting as intelligence officer to the forces. At the battle of Chillianwallah he did duty as aide-de-camp to Lord Gough, and at Guzerat, which followed soon after, he and his Pathans enjoyed the distinction of capturing nine guns from the enemy. A striking tribute to Nicholson's personality, and the valour he displayed on these occasions, is the well-vouched-for story that for many years afterwards, when visitors came to view these battlefields, the country people would begin their accounts by saying, "Nikalseyn stood just _there_!" After the conclusion of the campaign, which saw him a brevet-major, Nicholson decided to take a two years' holiday and return home. What influenced him to this most was the desire to comfort his mother, who, he knew, was grieving over the loss of her two sons, William and Alexander. But it was not easy for him to leave. India, as he wrote, was "like a rat-trap," more difficult to get out of than into, and it was not until January 1850 that he was at last free to depart. His old friend and colleague, Herbert Edwardes, as it happened, was also of a mind to see "the old country" again, so the two journeyed together down to Bombay, whence they took ship for England. But before Nicholson was to see his widowed mother again he was to pass through a romantic experience which deserves a chapter to itself. [1] _An Unrecorded Chapter of the Indian Mutiny_. CHAPTER V. ON FURLOUGH.