A number of sepoys mingled with the throng of English people, and entered into conversation with the gentlemen under whom they had formerly served. One and all, they expressed lively admiration for the unaccountable obstinacy of our defence. Many spoke with commiseration of the distressing condition to which those had been reduced for whom they entertained so deep a respect; inquired eagerly after their missing officers; and learned their fate with tears: conduct which none who have studied the Hindoo character can attribute to sheer dissimulation. Less equivocal were the demonstrations displayed towards their employers by certain among the better class of domestics. The head bearer of Colonel Williams, who commanded the Fifty-sixth before the mutiny, deserves to tell his own simple story. He says, "Even after the cessation of hostilities, we were not allowed to go and see our masters. On the morning of the twenty-sixth of June, three officers of the Fifty-sixth, Goad, Fagan, and Warde, mounted on elephants, and two Europeans, whose names and regiments I don't know, mounted on another elephant, came out of the intrenchments and went to the river, to inspect the boats. The gardener and I, taking some grapes, went up to the officers, and told them that we were in a starving condition, and wanted to come to our masters in the intrenchment. They said, 'No, you can't come with us, but we shall come out to-morrow, and you shall accompany us to Allahabad in boats.' Goad Sahib and Warde Sahib gave me each two rupees. They told me that my master had died a natural death; that my mistress was well, but slightly wounded; and that Miss Mary was dead. Her death was caused by fright at the cannonade, and that she was not wounded. On the twenty-seventh of June, a little before six A.M. as many as could walk came out; some of the wounded in doolies, others of whom were left behind. The party from the intrenchment was surrounded by sepoys. I had great difficulty in reaching my mistress. I applied to Annundeedeen, the Havildar-Major of the Fifty-sixth, who said the thing was impossible. I appealed to him, and begged him to remember the kindness he had received from the Colonel. After persuasion, he said that he could not show his face before the Colonel's lady, but directed four sepoys to take me to my mistress, and prevent my being disturbed. I was then taken to my mistress, with whom were her two daughters, Miss Georgiana, and Miss Fanny. They were in wretched plight; scorched and blistered by the sun. My mistress had a slight bullet-wound on the upper lip. She said that my master had died on the eighth of June. My mistress then asked about the property left in the house, and inquired about all the servants, and especially after the cook. She then told me to go and fetch him, as she wanted him to go down to Allahabad with her; and told me to go to her son in the Hills, and inform him of all that had occurred. She told me to make every