it should be remembered that most of them had been associated with the sipáhís all their lives; that they had done their duty by them; that in Afghánistán, in the Panjáb, in the wars in Central India, these men had followed wherever they had led; that they knew that in the matter of proselytism the sipáhís had no real reason for their fears. Oudh had been annexed but little more than a year, and the effect of that annexation on the minds of the sipáhís had not then been disclosed to them. Colonel Mitchell was an officer with a good reputation; he understood the sipáhís as the sipáhís had been up to 1857. But he was not more discerning than his fellows; not more prescient than the Government he served. The news that the sipáhís were in a state bordering on mutiny was a revelation to him. He could not comprehend why they should rise, or why they should even be excited. The cartridges, which he was told formed the pretext for the sudden ebullition, were, he well knew, the cartridges which had been used without a murmur throughout the period of his service. But what was he to do? His men — the men of the regiment for the good conduct of which he was responsible to the Commander-in-Chief and the Government — were gesticulating in front of the lines, and were in a state of incipient mutiny. Mitchell did his duty like the good soldier that he was; he rode down to the lines, accompanied by his adjutant, and sending for the native officers to the quarter-guard, there addressed them. He told them that there was no reason for the fears expressed by the men; that the cartridges were similar to those which had been served out and used from time immemorial; that there was no question of asking the sipáhís to bite them or to use them in any other way but in that to which they were accustomed. Having thus explained the groundlessness of the
