“If the bridge of boats should be captured before we got there we would be cut off in Oude with 50,000 of our enemies in our rear, a well-equipped army of 40,000 men, with a powerful train of artillery, numbering over 40 siege guns, in our front, and with all the women and children, sick and wounded to guard. So, 93rd,” said the grand old chief, “I don’t ask you to undertake this forced march in your present tired condition without good reason. You must reach Cawnpore to-night at all costs.” “All right, Sir Colin,” shouted one voice after another from the ranks; “we’ll do it!” The men, it must be remembered, had not had their clothes off or changed their socks for eighteen days, and what a tax on the fortitude of the men that forced march was, can hardly be realised. Alison tells the story very graphically:— Not a moment was to be lost. The danger was instant, and the whole army eagerly pressed on towards the scene of danger. At every step the sound of a heavy but distant cannonade became more distinct; but mile after mile was passed over, and no news could be obtained. The anxiety and impatience of all became extreme. Louder and louder grew the roar—faster and faster became the march—long and weary was the way—tired and footsore grew the infantry—death fell on the exhausted wounded with terrible rapidity—the travel-worn bearers could hardly stagger along under their loads—the sick men groaned and died. But still on, on, on, was the cry. Salvoes of artillery were fired by the field battery of the advanced guard in hopes that its sound might convey to the beleaguered garrison a promise of the coming aid. At last some horsemen were seen spurring along the road; then the veil which had for so long shrouded us from Windham was rent asunder, and the disaster stood before us in all its deformity. The story of Windham’s disastrous fight at Cawnpore is a sort of bloody appendix to Campbell’s march on Lucknow. It must be told here to make the tale complete.