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It was now the spring of 1848, and great events were brewing in the Punjab.  It was the lull between the two stormy gusts of the First and Second Sikh Wars.  To us at this date it does not seem to require the omniscience of a prophet, prophesying after the event, to discover that the settlement arrived at after the First Sikh War contained most of the possible elements of an unpermanent nature.  The Punjab was to remain a Sikh province, with the infant son of the Lion of the Punjab as its Sovereign; but the real ruler of the kingdom of the Sikhs was a British officer, Henry Lawrence, at the head of a council of regency.  To support his authority British bayonets overawed the capital of the Punjab, and assumed the mien of those who hold their place by right of conquest.  Attached to, but really at the head of, the minor centres of administration, were men like Herbert Edwardes, Abbott, Taylor, George Lawrence, Nicholson, and Agnew; the stamp of high-souled pioneer who though alone, unguarded, and hundreds of miles from succour, by sheer force of character makes felt the weight of British influence in favour of just and cleanly government.  And acting thus honourably they were naturally detested by the lower class of venal rulers, whose idea of government was, and is at all times and on all occasions, by persuasion, force, or oppression, to squeeze dry the people committed to their charge.  Ready to the hand of a discontented satrap, sighing for the illicit gains of a less austere rule, were the bands of discharged soldiers, their occupation gone, who crowded every village.  It was easy to show, as was indeed the case, that these discontented warriors owed their present plight to the hated English.  For while one of the conditions of peace, after the First Sikh War, insisted on the disbandment of the greater portion of the formidable Sikh army, the enlightened expedient of enlisting our late enemies into our own army had not yet been acted upon to any great extent.  To add to the danger, every town and hamlet harboured the chiefs and people of only a half-lost cause.

Thus the train of revolt was laid with an almost fatal precision throughout the province, and only required the smallest spark to set it alight.  At the head of the incendiary movement was the Maharani, the wife of the late and mother of the present infant king.  Some inkling of the plot, as could hardly fail, came to the British Resident’s ears, the primary step contemplated being to seduce from their allegiance the Company’s troops quartered at Lahore.

It was at this stage that a summons reached Lumsden to march with all despatch to Lahore, a distance of two hundred and fifty miles.  Here was an opportunity of testing the value of a corps whose loyalty was above question, and which from its composition could have no sympathy with the movement.  Consequently to Lumsden and his men was assigned the difficult and unaccustomed duty of unravelling the plot and bringing