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Pen case of an
officer in the Anglo-Sikh War
FEROZSHAH
Two days to rest were given; but on the third Our gallant
chief advanced to meet the foe, Along the ranks he rode,
and gave the word, " `Britons, remember Mudki ! -fire
low !' "
The battle rages-the Sikh mine explodes ;
'Twas as though ten thousand shells
Were bursting all around:
Or demons with sulphurous hells
Had there advantage found;
Our line recoil'd, as well they might,
Struck for the moment with affright;
And truly 'twas a horrid sight,
For human eye to view.
Our comrades thick around us bled
While legs and arms about were spread,
'Mid mangled corses of the dead;
And they were not a few.
Our wounded lay upon the ground,
But little help was nigh;
No lint or bandage for the wound !
They laid them down to die.
Their wounds unstaunch'd,
Nvith cold and thirst
Our heroes suffered then the worst
Sir John M'Caskill and Sir Robert Sale,
Unceasing slaughter thinned our fated bands
And seventeen cannon fell into their hands.
-Mr. Brooks
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