Memoirs of the Extraordinary Military Career of John Shipp: Late a Lieut. in His Majesty's 87th RegimentShipp, John
History
Memoirs of the Extraordinary Military Career of John Shipp: Late a Lieut. in His Majesty's 87th Regiment
Shipp, John
India -- History -- British occupation, 1765-1947 -- Biography; Shipp, John, 1784-1834
Naught was now heard but the roaring of the two six-pounders and the
whistling of shells. The dying and the wounded lay in masses in the
dells and ravines below. In our own company we had, I think, eleven
killed and twenty wounded, our total number being eighty only. I do
repeat again, I never saw such soldiers. I began to think myself, in
comparison with them, but yet a novice. When the evening began to spread
her mantle over the dreary scene, the sombre appearance of the lowering
sky seemed to mourn, and put on a garb of black, to shield from human
eye the ghastly sight below. As long as it was light, we could plainly
see the last struggles of the dying. Some poor fellows could be seen
raising their knees up to their chins, and then flinging them down with
all their might. Some attempted to rise, but failed in the attempt. One
poor fellow I saw get on his legs, put his hand to his bleeding head,
then fall, and roll down the hill, to rise no more. This was the scene
that the evening now closed upon. Reader, believe me when I assure you
that these results of war were no sights of exultation or triumph to the
soldiers who witnessed them. Willingly would we one and all have
extended the hand of aid to them, and dressed their gaping wounds. No
brave man will ever exult over a bleeding and wounded enemy. The weapon
of destruction is no sooner out of his hands, than he is our prisoner,
but not our foe. The sympathetic expressions that fell from the lips of
our brave soldiers, on witnessing these sights, would have done credit
to any set of men.
The dark clouds omened a coming storm. I have been told that any
particular noise in mountainous countries--more particularly the
roaring of cannon--will bring the clouds down from above, and that rain
will follow; and I once heard a gentleman account for it in this way. He
said that all dark and thick-looking clouds might be said to be
reservoirs of water; that any convulsion would bring them down; and
that, when at a certain distance from the earth, the earth's attractive
power would draw the rain from them, and, when lightened of this burden,
the clouds would again rise. How far this may be the case, I know not. I
can only say that, if convulsion could cause rain, there was convulsion
enough, for the roaring of the cannon kept up one continued re-echo. The
evening closed in pitchy darkness.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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