From the Jama Masjid we wandered through narrow lanes and back-slums—­the former resort of the worst characters in the city—­to the Delhi and Turkoman Gates, the streets, as in other parts, being strewed with property from the wrecked houses, and wellnigh impassable.  We saw parties of Europeans and native soldiers, all eager in the pursuit of plunder, going from house to house, or diving down courts and alleys when they saw us approaching.  Interference or remonstrance with these men would have been useless, if not dangerous; in their excited state they were no respecters of persons, and we deemed it the better judgment to take no notice of their actions.  Dead bodies lay in almost every street, rotting in the burning sun, and the effluvium was sickening, so that we were glad to make our way back to the Ajmir Gate to a less poisonous atmosphere.

A movable column of 2,500 men of all arms started on the morning of the 23rd in pursuit of the rebels, taking the direction to Cawnpore.  My regiment had been detailed for this service; and, though numerically weak, and suffering from sickness, the officers and men hailed with pleasure the approaching departure from Delhi.  But, unfortunately for us, the Colonel in command reported us sick and unfit to march.  We were all to a man furious at this; everyone fit for duty was willing, heart and soul, to be sent wherever the exigencies of the war required, and more especially looked forward with delight to the prospect of serving under Sir Colin Campbell, in whose brigade the regiment had fought in the Punjab campaign of 1848-49.  Still, the decision of the responsible officer was not to be disputed, and so the regiment was kept at Delhi.

On the 25th I mounted guard with fifty men at the Lahore Gate.  The orders were “on no account to allow soldiers, either European or native, nor camp-followers without passes, to enter or leave the city.”  My post was constantly at the gate, where I examined passes; and while thus occupied some thirty troopers of the Mooltani Horse—­wild, truculent-looking fellows, armed to the teeth—­rode up demanding entrance.  I explained to them what my orders were, and refused admission.  Whereupon they commenced talking among themselves, and presently had the audacity to move towards the sentries with the intention of forcing their way.  I was exasperated beyond measure, and turned out the guard, at the same time telling the Mooltanis that, if they did not at once retire, I would fire upon them without more ado.  They then at once changed their threatening attitude, contented themselves with swearing at the Gore log,[2] and rode away, saying that now Nicholson was dead no one cared for them, and they would return to their homes.  These men had been newly raised, were scarcely under proper discipline, and were certainly horrible-looking bandits and cut-throats—­very different from the Sikh and Punjabi Horsemen, who were in manner and discipline all that could be desired.  I knew that the Mooltanis only desired entrance into the city to participate in the looting which was still going on; and had they been allowed to indulge in a work for which by their evil countenances they seemed well adapted, collisions would have taken place between them and the English soldiers and others, and bloodshed would have been the result.