The moral effect of the arrival of the Guides in Delhi was perhaps in some measure greater even than the actual fighting strength thus brought into line.  The fame of the march from the far distant frontier, the fine physique and martial bearing of soldiers drawn from warlike tribes new to the eyes of their British comrades, the encouraging and enheartening effect of the arrival of reinforcements however small, all tended to give the approach of the travel-stained Guides a high significance.  Some such thought perhaps intuitively occurred to all; and every soldier who could claim to be off duty rushed to the dusty road-side, and hoarsely cheered the gallant fellows who had overcome so much to reach the side of their British comrades, hard set to uphold the great Empire of Clive and Warren Hastings.  It is interesting, at this distance of time, to find recorded the impression of an eye-witness who was amongst those who watched and cheered as the Guides, after a last thirty mile march, strode manfully into the camp at Delhi, on this, the morning of the 9th of June, 1857.  “Their stately height and martial bearing,” says this onlooker, “made all who saw them proud to have such aid.  They came in as firm and light as if they had marched but a single mile.”

At the end of this great march rest and peace for a day or two had assuredly been earned.  But no; as the Guides approach the historic Ridge, a staff officer, sent out to meet them, gallops up, and after giving friendly greeting, with the General’s compliments, asks, “How soon will you be ready to go into action?” “In half an hour,” is the gallant Daly’s cheery reply.  And thus it came about that history added one more touch of glory to a great achievement.  A little space of time there was for partial rest and hard-earned food, and then the trumpet calls to seize their arms and face the foe they had come so far to fight.  And in that fight both horse and foot showed great and glorious valour; but when evening came, and beaten back the rebels hid behind the walls of Delhi, the roll-call told its sad undying story.  Full many a Guide had made that strenuous march but to lay down his life e’er yet he had pitched his tent.  And brightest lights, as was meet, amidst these heroes, were the little band of British officers, for of those, in that one first fight, all were killed or wounded.  Amongst the latter was the lion-hearted, ever-cheerful Daly; and amongst the former the first of the great soldier-name of Battye to die a soldier’s death.  And as he died in that great agony his face lit up, and calm and smooth came the grand old Roman verse: 

Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori.

The story of the Guides before Delhi is the story of all that gallant band who through the blazing heat, ’midst sickness and disease, fought the good fight right through the summer of 1857, and with them shared in the crowning glory of the final assault and capture of the capital of the Great Mogul.  Hence after a few months’ harrying and chasing of rebel bands, with sadly diminished numbers, but still stout of heart, the order came for the Guides to return to their home on the distant frontier.