fairly won, though bravely contested by the Sikhs of all arms.”[62] The loss of the latter, some 4000, with 49 of their guns spiked, had been heavy too, and they had fought with all the bravery of, and in a manner somewhat similar to, the Highlanders who drew sword and fought for the “Pretender” when the “embers of the Civil War” died out. In the hand-to-hand fighting, they had caught the bayonet with the left hand, to cut at its holder with the right with the sword. They had received lance-thrusts on their shields, to return the attack when the lance was thrown aside or broken; they had laid themselves down when the cavalry charged, to rise when the horsemen passed, and attack them shield and sword in hand. Between the fighting of the Scots in 1745 and that of the Sikhs in 1849 there was no real difference as far as pluck and courage went. But the spirit of our gallant and stubborn adversaries was not broken yet. Mooltan fell. They met us again at Gujerat, but the previous encounters had created in them a feeling of despair. Hitherto the Sikhs had been the attacking side when the battle was being formed. Now it was otherwise. They fought on the defensive and were badly beaten; the 9th, 3rd, and 14th British cavalry Regiments, and the 10th, 29th, 60th, and 61st line Regiments shared in the last fight against the Sikhs, as did the European Regiments of the Bombay and Bengal armies. Though said to be 34,000 men strong, with an Afghan detachment of 1500 men and 59 guns, the Sikhs’ army, as such, ceased to be, and its guns, camp equipage, and baggage became the spoil of the victors. “God has given you the victory,” was the despairing cry of many a dying Sikh. The loss on the British side was small, 29 officers and 671 men; and the final result was the unconditional surrender of the enemy, and the annexation of the Punjaub to the Indian Empire of Great Britain. Throughout, Gough had pressed his infantry into the fight before the artillery had sufficiently “prepared” the position. He was so excitable under fire, that the story is told that his staff, knowing his “passion for employing infantry before the guns had done their work, induced the gallant veteran to mount by means of a ladder--the only means of access--to the top storey of an isolated building which commanded a complete view of the battlefield. They then quietly removed the ladder, and only replaced it when the artillery had done its work.”[63]