Ever since Captain Macdonell had arrived in India he had kept a journal regularly, and how interesting that manuscript would have been now, those only can realise who used to hear his graphic accounts of those stirring and picturesque times.   But unfortunately his journals of nearly thirty years were destroyed, and with them, doubtless, many an interesting tale.

The story of Maharajpore as he remembered it in his old age, is one of half a dozen lines, but in former years he would relate it at some length, and in such a way that the doings of both our side and the enemy's, were brought vividly before one.   Such, for instance, as the hand-to-hand combat preceding the battle, which is curiously reminiscent of that of David and Goliath, when, as the chronicler relates, "the Philistines gathered together their armies to battle, ..... and Saul and the men of Israel were gathered together, and pitched by the valley of Elah, ..... and there was a valley between them.   And there went out a champion from out of the camp of the Philistines, named Goliath of Gath, whose height was six cubits and a span.   And he had an helmet of brass upon his head, and he was armed with a coat of mail......And he stood and cried unto the armies of Israel and said unto them, "why are ye come out to set your battle in array?  Am not I a Philistine, and ye servants to Saul?  Choose you a man for you, and let him come down to me"....And the Philistine said, "I defy the armies of Israel this day;  give me a man that we may fight together".

And likewise at Hingona;  for some days before the battle of Maharajpore, solitary champions would sally out of the enemy's camp, and come galloping across the valley close up to our lines, challenging our men to fight.   Several of such combats Ea l'outrance had taken place before the authorities saw fit to forbid them;  but still the Gwalior horsemen came as before, and with taunts and jeers and vile abuse, strove to goad the men into accepting their challenge.   It was hard indeed to have to stand still under the insults showered upon them by an insolent foe, but "obedience is the first duty of a soldier".

Chafing, yet self-possessed, they stood it well, until the enemy set to abusing, not only the men themselves, but their womenfolk, - the dear ones they might never see again.   Then one, - the vet of the regiment I think he was, - an excellent rider and swordsman, crying "I can stand this no longer!" mounted his horse, and dashed forward, sword in hand, to meet the enemy.

"Bravo!" shouted our men, and with breathless interest they watched the fight, and great was their satisfaction, when, after a few minutes, they saw the Maharatta fall, his head nearly severed from his body, and his opponent ride quietly back to camp.   He, no doubt was wondering what punishment would be awarded to him for this flagrant act of disobedience.   But the authorities, for some reason best known to

themselves, chose to be blind and deaf to the affair;  perhaps a fellow-feeling made them kind, or the prospect of tomorrow's battle made them lenient;  but at all events they chose to ignore it.

As related in his Letters of Reminiscence, Captain Macdonell found to his surprise after the Maharajpore engagement, that his faithful bearer, Kudgoo, regardless of his own safety, had followed him through the fight carrying a flask of brandy in case his master should have need of it.   Such rare devotion is worthy of record, and was thoroughly appreciated by Kudgoo's master, although he used smilingly to say, when telling the story, that "the villain thought it necessary to let all my intimate friends have a nip of brandy, so that after all there was very little left for me!"

   A good master, it is said, makes a good servant, and the relationship between Macdonell and his domestics goes far to prove the truth of the saying, for in those days when it was thought excusable, and more than excusable, to beat one's servants for almost any fault, he made it a rule never to do so;  and never was master more beloved or better served.   But there is an exception to every rule, and there was an occasion when he gave a servant a sound horse'whipping for having beaten his wife, Mrs. Macdonell's ayah, until she fainted;  and this was I believe the only instance of his beating any of his servants.

Although Macdonell does not record it in his Letters of Reminiscence, curiously enough, at the battle of Maharajpore he was asked by a senior to lead his squadron to the charge, for he did not feel sufficient confidence in himself to do so, but he would follow, he said, which he did.   And although it was with no idea of securing safety that he took a back place, the senior officer, whoever he was, had a very narrow escape of his life from a spear-thrust, while Captain Macdonell did not receive a scratch.   He was moreover delighted with the honour of leading his men, considering it quite "a feather in his cap".

The three charges made by the Tenth were executed through fields of ripe corn, which in many places had been cut and piled up in "stooks".   Here the enemy frequently shammed death in order to avoid it, or lay hid in those stooks until the troopers had passed, when out they would come and fire at them from behind.   Our men enraged at this, on returning thoroughly searched these hiding places, and killed all the Maharattas found lurking therein.

The following night Captain Macdonell had, I know not on what duty, to ride over the field of battle.   It may have been to visit the picquets, or possibly he conducted a party to recover and bury our dead.   Long years after, he used to speak with horror of the ghastly sight the battlefield presented by moonlight, the dead lying in great heaps all over the field.   We had lost eight hundred men, but the enemy's loss was far greater, for nearly four thousand Maharattas lay there dead.        

While moving about over the battlefield he recalled to mind the sad words which "the Iron Duke" wrote just after Waterloo:  "my heart is broken by the terrible loss I have sustained in my old friends and companions, and my poor soldiers.  Believe me, nothing except a battle lost can be half so melancholy as a battle won":  and now he realised the full truth of that saying.   Seeing a chainshot lying near him he picked it up, intending to keep it as a memento of Maharajpore and the scene before him,.   So he carried it to his tent and buried it there.   Some time after, he dug for it in the same place, but found it gone!