AN EPISODE OF THE INDIAN MUTINY.

Patea Mail, Volume I, Issue 94, 4 March 1876, Page 3

AN EPISODE OF THE INDIAN MUTINY.

One (Tty, in one of the enclosed buildings near Lucknow, a great number of prisoners were taken, nearly all Sepoys. After the fight they were all brought in to the officer commanding my regiment, and in the morning the order came that they should all be shot. It chanced that it was my turn to command the firing party. 1 asked the prisoners f-1 e:r names and regiment. After hearing some five or six, one Sepoy said he belonged to the regiment, which was that my son Lad been in, I of course asked him if he had known my son, Anuntee Ham, of the light company, lb' answered that tliat was his own name ; hut this being a very common name, and having always Imagined that my son, as 1 had never heard from him, must have died of Ihe Seinde fever, it did not at first strike me; hut when he informed me that lie ernue from Tillowee, my heart leapt in my mouth. Could ho he my son ? Then; ' ViIK 110 doubt of it, for lie gave my name as his father, and he Ml down at my feet, imploring my pardon. He, with all the other men in the regiment had mutinied, and had gone to Lucknow. Once the deed was %}onc, what was he to do? Where was tic to go if he had ever been inclined to escape? At I o’clock in the day the prisoners were all to be shot, and I must he my Sim’s executioner. Such is fate ! .1 went to the Major Sahib, and requested that I might he relieved from this duty as a very great favour; bathe was very angry, and said he would bring me to a court-martial for trying to shirk my duty ; he would not believe I was a faithful servant to the English Oovernment —he was sure my heart was in reality with the mutineers—lie would not hear me any longer. At this my feelings as a father got the bettor of me, and 1 hurst into a flood of tears. ] told him f would shoot every, one of the prisoners with my own hand if he ordered, me, but I confessed that one of them was my own son: The major declared what I urged was only an excuse to get off shooting my own brotherhood. But at last his heart seemed touched, and he ordered my unhappy son to he brought before him and questioned him very strictly. I shall never forget this terrible scene ; formic moment I never thought of asking his life to he spared—that he did not deserve. He became convinced of the truth of my statement, and ordemi mo to ho relieved from this duty. I wont to my tent bowed down with grief, made worse by the jibes and taunts poured,, on me by the Sikhs, who declared I was a renegade. In a short time I lean! the deadly volley. My son bad received the reward of mutiny ! He showed no tear, hut I would rather ho had been killed in fight. Through the kindness of Hie major I was allowed to perform the funeral rife over my misguided son—the only one of the prisoners fiver whom it was performed, for the remaining bodies were all thrown to the jackals and vultures. 1 had not heard from my sun since just after my return from slavery. .1 had not seen him since I went to Cabool, and thus I met him again, untrue to his salt, in open rebellion against the master who had fed his father and himself. But enough—more is unnecessary, He was not the only one who mutinied (literally he was not alone when he mutinied). The major told me afterwards that he was much blamed by the other officers for allowing the funeral rite to he performed on the rebel. But if good deeds wipe away _ sins—which I have heard some sahibs as well as we do —his sins will ho very white, Bad fortune never attends on the merciful.—Autobiography of a Sepoy in u Contemporary Review.’