was served out as our breakfast was very agreeable
The regimental band then struck up, and
everybody began to look more cheerful as the
sun rose. For my part, I could not help feeling
sad as I thought how many of our band who
were then looking at that sunrise would never
see the sunset.

A reconnoitring party had gone forward to
ascertain the enemy's exact position; on its
return, we got the order to march. The bands
struck up their liveliest airs, and we stepped
out merrily. It was one of the lovely bright
mornings of the Indian cold weather, and
the motion and bracing air soon dispelled
all gloomy reflections. The only thing calculated
to damp the spirits was the long train of
doolies for the wounded, that followed
ominously in our wake. I had almost forgotten the
errand we were bound on, when, after an hour's
marching, I was suddenly reminded of it by
a distant boom, instantly followed by the crash
of a large howitzer-shell bursting over our
heads. The enemy had caught sight of the head
of our column, and opened a rapid fire from
several howitzers, previously placed in position
to receive us. As rapidly as it could be done,
the column was deployed into line, the men
running up over the broken ground to their places
in line as best they could. There was no time
to think now. The enemy's guns were telling
on us already, and must be captured. The
country was level and well wooded. Being a little
in rear of the line, all I could see at first was
our own men advancing at an easy run, and
a very broken irregular line they were—-looking
very different from what they would have looked
at Aldershot. The enemy's shot and shell in
the mean time were ploughing up the ground all
about us. The roar of a round-shot as it passes
is a most unpleasant sound. There is a fierceness
in it which is very suggestive, and one feels
at first an almost irrepressible inclination to duck
to it. All young soldiers do so. In a rapid
advance such as we were making, there is not time
for much thought, but it struck me at once that
I felt no fear. I was conscious of a fierce
excitement urging me on. I was surprised, too,
at noticing how little effect such a cannonade
had in thinning our ranks. I positively saw no
one in the act of falling, and in a very few
minutes I had acquired a, sort of confidence in
my good fortune—-a feeling that it could not
be so very dangerous after all, and that I should
probably come out unharmed.

After advancing some distance, a momentary
halt was made as we emerged from the wooded
country on an open slope in full view of the
enemy, who were posted on the opposite side
of a small stream about four hundred yards in
our front. They had by this time begun to
fire "case" at us, and at each discharge the
ground was dotted with little puffs of dust as
the shower of iron bullets fell. Though less
formidable to the ear, it was far more dangerous
than the round-shot, and it was necessary to
put a stop to it as speedily as possible; so, after
firing an irregular volley, we advanced afresh.
I can remember one maddening rush, one loud
cheer, a few musket-shots, and the guns were
in our possession, and the enemy in full retreat.
As I reached the first gun, the smoke of the
last discharge was still slowly curling out of the
muzzle. So rapid had been our rush, that the
gunners had left two of their guns still loaded.

With our small force, and with no cavalry, it
would have been injudicious to follow up the
enemy; so, as quickly as possible, our men were
collected, and arrangements made for removing
the captured guns. There was now time to
look about a little. Parties were being sent
out to collect the dead and wounded, and I was
astonished to see how many had been hit
in that half-hour's fighting. We had lost
ninety of our small force. A ghastly sight
they were when the doolies had been collected
together in a mango-grove. There was every
possible form of wound. The dead looked calm
and peaceful. I noticed that of the wounded
those who were most severely injured seemed in
the least pain, and generally had flushed faces.

There was no complaining, no groaning. The
stories one sees in books about the screams and
cries of wounded men in battle are incorrect.
I have been in a great number of actions, and
have only twice heard a man cry out when hit,
and in each case it was merely a blow from a
spent bullet the most painful wound of all, at
the time. I noticed some peculiar sights. On
one side, a little drummer-boy lamenting over a
pony which belonged to him, and which, having
been left in the rear, had had its head smashed by
a stray shot; on another side, an officer shooting a
wounded horse. Near one of the captured guns
lay a gunner, the lower part of whose face had
been completely cut away by one of our round-
shot. I saw one of our gun-bullocks, minus a
horn, which had been broken off close to his
head.

As we marched back to camp, with the bands
playing as before, but for the captured guns I
could hardly have realised that we had been in
action since the morning. The impression left
on my mind was more what I have felt after a
good day's hunting, though there was, of course,
in addition, a feeling of great thankfulness at
having come safely out of it. I have been in
many a fight since, but I never afterwards felt
any gloomy thoughts in anticipation. What I
have described as my sensations are, I believe,
felt but once in a lifetime.

In writing this I have not attempted to
give a correct account of the action in question,
but have simply aimed at describing what I
actually saw and felt. I must mention one thing
that impressed me at the time, and that I
have often since observed:—-how completely
soldiers forget all their scientific musketry
instruction, the instant they get under fire. When
face to face with the enemy, nineteen men out
of twenty never look at the sights of their rifles,
but blaze away at random. Pluck and dash
then become far more valuable qualities than
good shooting.

Two years afterwards, happening to be in the