Travel Diaries and Journals

in the medical Hall after till Breakfast time

Nov. 18th At Bandar. at "Candia" at Garden reach for lep. box. at Med Hall all day. Egan called in the evg. walked to Col Lys park St: News from Lucknow Sir Colin Shelling on both sides. Commun with Sir J Outram latter advised his friends not to attack until it could be done efficiently

Nov. 19th. Went down to the beach

Nov 20th to 30th At Medical Hall every day. till between 5 & 6 . 29th dined on board the Candia Saw Dawson & Fitz at the Fort. Came home in D.s Buggy. 30th Had diarrhea which made me feel weak News today that Col. Cameron 42nd & Col Rourke 19th both dead of Cholera. posted a letter to a soldier at Lahore entrusted by Mrs. Achison 23rd At a tea party at Smith's met Dr. Bryden. E I Co &ce. 3000 Sepoys enclosed in palace garden [Dec. 1st. scored through] & bayonetted by Sir Colin. Sepoys retreat upon Hyrabad.

mercy from the maddened & infuriated watcher hands they had fallen in England

[clippings from Punch pasted over pencil text] PUNCH,

[August 29, 1863.

Colin Campell, Lord Clyde.

Died, Friday, August 14, Buried, Saturday, August 22, 1863.

Another great, grey-headed, chieftain gone To join his brethren on the silent shore! Another link with a proud past undone! Another stress of life-long warfare o'er!

Few months have passed since that grey head we saw Bending above the vault where OUTRAM slept; Lingering as if reluctant to withdraw From that grave-side, where sun-bronzed soldiers wept.

The thought filled many minds, is he the next To take his place within the Abbey walls? A gnarled trunk, by many tempests vext, That bears its honours high, even as it falls.

He is the next! the name that was a fear To England's swarthy foes, all India through, Is now a memory! No more fields will hear His voice of stern command, that rand so true.

The tartaned ranks he led and loved no more Will spring like hounds unleashed, at his behest; No more that eye will watch his soldiers o'er, As mother o'ers their babes, awake, at rest.

A life of roughest duty, from the day When with the boy's down soft upon his chin, He marched to fight, as others run to play, Like a young squire his knightly spurs to win.

And well won them ; in the fever-swamp, In foughten field, by trench and leaguered wall,

[pencil text] a Swan spreading her plumage as she goes. at last She leaves the river the passengers Crowd the decks & take a last look of their beloved. land gradually the outline of the white cliffs of old England