They were wild soldiers, gaunt, sinewy, and eager—the “Singh log” (“the lion people”), as they called themselves. Maude has left a graphic picture of the Sikhs who, at Allahabad, followed Brasyer as, with his flowing white beard, he led them in pursuit of the broken Sepoys, or hung with soldierly obedience on Neill’s stern orders. “When no fighting was on hand,” he says, “squads of the tall, upright, Hebraic-visaged Sikhs used to march into their commanding officer’s tent, where they stood at attention, in silence, with one hand raised at the orthodox salute. ‘What do you want, my men?’ was the question in Hindustani. ‘May it please the protector of the poor, we want two days’ leave.’ ‘What for?’ ‘To get drunk, Sahib!’ And their request, being considered reasonable, was usually granted!” Neill, by the way, had to use these by no means ascetic Sikhs to keep his own “blue-caps” sober. The stocks of all the merchants in the city were practically without owners, and the finest champagnes and brandies were selling at 6d. per bottle. For a day or two it seemed probable that Neill’s little force would be swept out of existence in a mere ignoble torrent of drunkenness. Neill threatened the whip and the bullet in vain; and finally marched up the Sikhs and took peremptory possession of all intoxicating drinks. On June 18 the fighting was over, the British were masters both of fort and city, where, fourteen days before, they had been little better than prisoners or fugitives. Then was repeated, in yet sterner fashion, the retribution which had struck terror through Benares. The gallows in Allahabad groaned under its heavy and quick-following burdens. In his diary Neill wrote: “God grant that I may have acted with justice. I know I have with severity, but, under all the circumstances, I trust for forgiveness. I have done all for the good of my country, to re-establish its prestige and power, and to put down this most barbarous and inhuman insurrection.” Then he recites cases of outrage and mutilation on English ladies and on little children, with details that still chill the natural blood with horror to read. The Sepoys, it is to be noted, when the fighting was over, took their penalty with a sort of composed fatalism, to the Western imagination very amazing. Sir George Campbell tells the story of the execution of an old native officer, a subhadar, which he witnessed. “He was very cool and quiet, and submitted to be executed without remonstrance. But the rope broke, and he came down to the ground. He picked himself up, and it was rather a painful scene for the spectators. But he seemed to feel for their embarrassment, and thought it well to break the awkwardness of the situation by conversation, remarking that it was a very bad rope, and talking of little matters of that kind till another rope was procured, which made an end of him!”