were followed by a troop of women yelling and screaming.
Keeping these as a cover for their retreat, the rebels got clear away,
the soldiers having desisted from firing the moment the women appeared.
This was a ruse which, I heard from others, was often adopted by the
mutineers, who seemed to know intuitively that their women and children
were safe from the fire of our men.

The deeds of individual daring performed during September 14 were
numberless, and I was witness of many feats of arms and cool courage
by the rank and file and non-commissioned officers of the different
regiments. A private of my corps, a huge Grenadier Irishman named
Moylan, saved the life of an officer under circumstances which fully
entitled him to the coveted distinction of the Victoria Cross. In one of
the numerous encounters which took place this officer, leading on a few
men, turned sharply round the corner of a street, and was met by a force
of sepoys coming from the opposite direction. A shot struck him, and he
was felled to the ground from the blow of a sword, and would have been
quickly despatched had not Moylan rushed to his rescue. Discharging his
musket, he shot one of the assailants, and charged with the bayonet.
This was broken off; and then, with firelock clubbed, he stood over the
prostrate officer, dealing such fearful blows with the weapon--felling
his foes in every direction--that the sepoys took to their heels, and
Moylan, picking up the wounded officer, brought him to a place of
safety. He was made a sergeant on the spot by the Colonel, but all
efforts to obtain the Cross for this gallant fellow were unavailing. In
those days the distinction was but seldom given; probably so many names
were submitted for the General's consideration that only a few could be
approved, and the application for Moylan was passed by.

But though in the latter's case the Victoria Cross was not given, it was
awarded to a surgeon (named Reade) of my regiment on that day. He was
ever to be found in the thick of the fighting, ministering to the
wounded and cheering on the men. While engaged in his professional
duties, a number of sepoys poured a deadly fire from the far end of a
street into the group of wounded of which he was the central figure.
This was too much for the surgeon, who, drawing his sword, called on
some men of the regiment close by, and led them in gallant style against
the enemy, whom he dispersed with great loss, killing two sepoys wit