n half of our wounded were injured by sword-cuts.

From the Martiniere we slowly and silently commenced our advance across
the canal, the front of the column being directed by Mr. Kavanagh and
his native guide. Just as morning broke we had reached the outskirts of
a village on the east side of the Secundrabagh. Here a halt was made for
the heavy guns to be brought to the front, three companies of the
Ninety-Third with some more artillery being diverted to the left under
command of Colonel Leith-Hay, to attack the old Thirty-Second barracks,
a large building in the form of a cross strongly flanked with
earthworks. The rest of the force advanced through the village by a
narrow lane, from which the enemy was driven by us into the
Secundrabagh.

About the centre of the village another short halt was made. Here we saw
a naked wretch, of a strong muscular build, with his head closely shaven
except for the tuft on his crown, and his face all streaked in a hideous
manner with white and red paint, his body smeared with ashes. He was
sitting on a leopard's skin counting a rosary of beads. A young
staff-officer, I think it was Captain A. O. Mayne, Deputy Assistant
Quartermaster-General, was making his way to the front, when a man of my
company, named James Wilson, pointed to this painted wretch saying, "I
would like to try my bayonet on the hide of that painted scoundrel, who
looks a murderer." Captain Mayne replied: "Oh don't touch him; these
fellows are harmless Hindoo _jogees_,[16] and won't hurt us. It is the
Mahommedans that are to blame for the horrors of this Mutiny." The words
had scarcely been uttered when the painted scoundrel stopped counting
the beads, slipped his hand under the leopard skin, and as quick as
lightning brought out a short, brass, bell-mouthed blunderbuss and fired
the contents of it into Captain Mayne's chest at a distance of only a
few feet. His action was as quick as it was unexpected, and Captain
Mayne was unable to avoid the shot, or the men to prevent it.
Immediately our men were upon the assassin; there was no means of escape
for him, and he was quickly bayoneted. Since then I have never seen a
painted Hindoo, but I involuntarily raise my hand to knock him down.
From that hour I formed the opinion (which I have never had cause to
alter since) that the pampered high-caste Hindoo sepoys had far more to
do with the Mutiny and the cowardly murders of women and children, than
the Mahommedans, although