were in the river our
men rushed to the corner nearest to them and kept peppering at every
head above water. One tall fellow, I well remember, acted as cunningly
as a jackal; whether struck or not he fell just as he got into shallow
water on the opposite side, and lay without moving, with his legs in the
water and his head on the land. He appeared to be stone dead, and every
rifle was turned on those that were running across the plain for the
gate of the Badshahibagh, while many others who were evidently severely
wounded were fired on as our fellows said, "_in mercy to put them out of
pain_." I have previously remarked that the war of the Mutiny was a
horrible, I may say a demoralising, war for civilised men to be engaged
in. The inhuman murders and foul treachery of the Nana Sahib and others
put all feeling of humanity or mercy for the enemy out of the question,
and our men thus early spoke of putting a wounded Jack Pandy _out of
pain_, just as calmly as if he had been a wild beast; it was even
considered an act of mercy. It is now horrible to recall it all, but
what I state is true. The only excuse is that _we_ did not begin this
war of extermination; and no apologist for the mutineers can say that
they were actuated by patriotism to throw off the yoke of the oppressor.
The cold-blooded cruelty of the mutineers and their leaders from first
to last branded them in fact as traitors to humanity and cowardly
assassins of helpless women and children. But to return to the Pandy
whom I left lying half-covered with water on the further bank of the
Goomtee opposite the Shah Nujeef. This particular man was ever after
spoken of as the "jackal," because jackals and foxes have often been
known to sham dead and wait for a chance of escape; and so it was with
Jack Pandy. After he had lain apparently dead for about an hour, some
one noticed that he had gradually dragged himself out of the water; till
all at once he sprang to his feet, and ran like a deer in the direction
of the gate of the Badshahibagh. He was still quite within easy range,
and several rifles were levelled at him; but Sergeant Findlay, who was
on the rampart, and was himself one of the best shots in the company,
called out, "Don't fire, men; give the poor devil a chance!" Instead of
a volley of bullets, the men's better feelings gained the day, and Jack
Pandy was reprieved, with a cheer to speed him on his way. As soon as he
heard it he realised his position, and like