And so we fight on, literally day by day, for now "our artillery officers themselves say they are outmatched by these rascals in accuracy and rapidity of fire; and as they have unlimited supplies of guns, &c., they are quite beyond us in many respects. We are, in point of fact, reduced to merely holding our own ground till we get more men." Still we don't feel at all like giving in.
"The wounded generally are doing well, poor fellows, considering the heat, dirt, and want of any bed but the dry ground. Their pluck is wonderful, and it is not in the field alone that you see what an English soldier is made of. One poor fellow who was smoking his pipe and laughing with the comrade by his side, was asked, what was the matter with him, and he answered in a lively voice, 'Oh, not much, Sir, only a little knock on the back; I shall be up and at the rascals again in a day or two.' He had been shot in the spine, and all his lower limbs were paralyzed. He died next day. Colonel Welchman is about again; too soon, I fear, but there is no keeping the brave old man quiet. Poor Peter Brown is very badly wounded, but he is cheerful, and bears up bravely. Jacob has 'come out' wonderfully. He is cool, active, and bold, keeps his wits about him under fire, and does altogether well. We are fortunate in having him with the force. Good field-officers are very scarce indeed; I do not wonder at people at a distance bewailing the delay in the taking of Delhi. No one not on the spot can appreciate the difficulties in the way, or the painful truth, that those difficulties increase upon us."
I am rather out of sorts still myself, also. It is a burden to me to stand or walk, and the excessive heat makes it difficult for me to recover from that sharp attack of illness. "The doctors urge me to go away for a little, to get strength--as if I could leave just now, or as if I would if I could." ... So I am in the saddle all day, (June 24th,) though obliged occasionally to rest a bit where I can find shelter, and one halt is by Alfred Light.
"It does me good to see the 'Light of the ball-room' working away at his guns, begrimed with dust and heat, ever cheery and cool, though dead beat from fatigue and exposure. How our men fought to-day; liquid fire was no name for the fervent heat; but nothing less than a knock-down blow from sun, sword, or bullet, stops a British soldier."