Meanwhile the gunners stood with lighted port-fires, waiting for the
word of command to fire the guns and launch the sepoys into eternity.

These were still yelling and raining abuse, some even looking over their
shoulders and watching without emotion the port-fires, about to be
applied to the touch-holes, when the word "Fire!" sounded from the
officer in command, and part of the tragedy was at an end.

A thick cloud of smoke issued from the muzzles of the cannons, through
which were distinctly seen by several of us the black heads of the
victims, thrown many feet into the air.

While this tragic drama was enacting, the two sepoys to be hanged were
turned off the platform.

The artillerymen again loaded the guns, the six remaining prisoners,
cursing like their comrades, were bound to them, another discharge, and
then an execution, the like of which I hope never to see again, was
completed.

All this time a sickening, offensive smell pervaded the air, a stench
which only those who have been present at scenes such as these can
realize--the pungent odour of burnt human flesh.

The artillerymen had neglected putting up back-boards to their guns, so
that, horrible to relate, at each discharge the recoil threw back pieces
of burning flesh, bespattering the men and covering them with blood and
calcined remains.

A large concourse of natives from the bazaars and city had assembled in