them. The scum of the population had risen in the villages, the gaols had disgorged their prisoners, and, generally, except on the actual spot still occupied by Europeans in Mírath itself, order had everywhere disappeared. In the cantonment and the civil lines martial law had been proclaimed. But a deep despondency had crept over all minds — a despondency augmented by the news of the success of the rebels in Dehlí, and of outrages from outlying stations. There had been risings at Rurkí, sixty miles from Mírath, the headquarters of the engineering science of the country, at Saháranpur, and at Muzaffarnagar. There were murmurings, to break a little later into open mutiny, in the several stations of Rohilkhand. It is true that the energy and firmness of Baird-Smith, a man whose name will for ever be connected with the fall of Dehlí, saved Rurkí; and that the strong character and devotion of Robert Spankie and Dundas Robertson maintained order in Saháranpur. But the alarm created by the attempts at rising there and elsewhere tended greatly to depress those at Mírath, who apparently had been thoroughly unnerved by the terrible night of the 10th of May.
Nothing created so much surprise throughout India as the inaction of the troops at Mírath during the days which succeeded that night. Two splendid English regiments, supported by two batteries of artillery, might surely, it was argued, do something in the district. Those in authority elsewhere, who argued thus, waited in vain for the development of the action they were impatiently expecting. At last Mr Colvin, who, from his post at Agra, the importance of which I have pointed out, had the best reason in the world to dread the consequences of inaction, noting its continuance, addressed Brigadier Wilson, passing over his senior officer. General Hewitt, and begged him, at the very least, to keep open the main road, so as to prevent the
