“But, disastrous as was the retreat,” says one account, “it was not all disgraceful. There will always be acts of individual heroism when Englishmen go out to battle. It may be a soldier or it may be a civilian, in whom the irrepressible warrior instinct manifests itself in some act of conspicuous gallantry and devotion, but it is sure never to be wanting.” In this instance it was the civilian who rose to the occasion. Early in the engagement Mr. Mangles had been hit by a musket ball, but the shot had luckily only stunned him. Quickly recovering, he lent a hand in helping the wounded, and on the retreat commencing he played an active part in beating off the sepoys. With a number of men round him to reload and supply him with muskets, he shot sepoy after sepoy, the sure eye and hand which had made him a noted tiger shot not failing him in this hour of need. The especial act for which he was awarded the Cross, however, was the gallant rescue of a wounded private of the Hampshires (the 37th Foot). At the man’s piteous appeal to his comrades not to leave him there helpless to be hacked to pieces by the sepoys, Mangles nobly rushed to his side, bound up his wounds, and then lifted him on to his back. With this heavy burden the brave civilian trudged on among the others. It was rough going for the greater part of the six miles to the river, the ground being very swampy, and overhead was a broiling July sun. Despite these disadvantages, and the fact that he had not slept for forty-eight hours, Mangles bore the helpless private the whole of the way, only stopping now and then to place his charge on the ground and take a pot-shot at the pursuing rebels. “I really never felt so strong in my life,” he used to say afterwards in referring to this incident. When the waters of the Ganges were reached he plunged in and swam out to the boats with his now unconscious burden. Then, when all the survivors were aboard, the flotilla started on its sad return journey. Mr. McDonell all this time had been ever to the front, assisting the officers to keep the men together. An excellent shot, like his fellow-magistrate, he accounted for many a rebel ere the river-side was reached, but he did not escape unscathed. A musket shot had lodged in his arm. In the wild rush for the half-dozen country boats moored close to the river bank, McDonell gave no thought to himself. There were several men very badly hit, and it was not until he had seen these safely over the thwarts that he jumped in and cast the mooring adrift. He was the last man aboard his boat, which was crowded with thirty-five soldiers.