“They’re coming at us,” Tynan whispered. There was no need to whisper, for the fact was only too evident. The impressive nature of the peril had made him unconsciously lower his voice.

“Are the guns loaded?” he added, nodding towards the half-dozen cannon, whose grim black muzzles stared through the embrasures.

“No, and it would take us an hour to load them,” Lowthian replied.

As a measure of precaution, all munitions for the cannon had been stored within the arsenal.

The Rajputs on the bastions that flanked the main gate began to fire wildly as the rebels approached within range.

“Steady, men, steady!” the commandant ordered. “Each cover his man before he fires! That’s the way! Well aimed, Ambar Singh!”

The loyal sepoys had pulled themselves together, and there was no further waste of ammunition. Rebel after rebel rolled over in the dust or limped into cover, and the rush was checked. The assailants slowly backed away from the walls, each man trying to dodge behind his neighbour to keep a shield before him as he took aim. Ted looked for Pir Baksh, but that astute pandy, having no intention of exposing himself so prominently on horseback, had dismounted, and was lost amid the mob.

At last the ensign marked his quarry. For a second’s space the ringleader had come into view to urge his reluctant hordes to the assault. Hastily covering him, Ted pulled the trigger. A rebel fell, but it was not Pir Baksh. Like the coward he was, he had skipped into safety behind a group of sepoys, and now the front ranks of the mutineers had pressed back upon the rearmost until all were beyond effective range. Brown Bess could not be trusted to carry far.

“If there is one of the curs I should like to kill it’s that traitor Pir Baksh!” Tynan declared with an oath. “I hope I’ll live to see him hanged! It was he who shot the colonel; I saw him.”

“Are you sure of that?” Lowthian and Ted both asked.

“As sure as that I am here.——What are they up to now?”

Baffled for a moment, the subadar had abandoned the idea of a direct assault, and was seen to be exhorting the men to some new method of attack, for the pandies presently dispersed right and left. A hot fire was still kept up through the windows of Fletcher’s house. Lowthian quietly gave an order.

“Tynan, take eight men to the southern bastion, and don’t show yourselves until you can strike home. Dal Singh, you keep watch from the north-west tower, and give the alarm if they gather in that direction.”

A number of the sepoys were reassembling at the top of the main street where it debouched into the open space facing the main gate. Ted and Lowthian exchanged a meaning look as they perceived that some had brought short ladders and were busily lashing them together.

“If they’ve any grit they’ll soon be over the walls,” the senior whispered. “Ha! they mean to attack Tynan’s post first.”

Under the impression that the garrison was too weak to be distributed, some hundred rebels with a ladder made a dash for the southern wall of the courtyard, keeping out of range from the main gate as they ran. They were within twenty paces when Tynan opened fire. Still they kept on, and planted the ladder against the wall. A second volley rang out, and the pandies hesitated, for the fire had been concentrated on the ladder-bearers, and those who were nearest to them edged farther away, pressing against the walls. They reasoned that it was death to touch the ladder, and many of their comrades were already dead. But by now another rush had been made for the main gate, and though a dozen fell in the assault, the sepoys were more in earnest and they thirsted for revenge. Two of the Rajputs were knocked over, and Pir Baksh yelled gleefully as he planted a bullet in Lowthian’s shoulder.

Still the fort was not yet won. Encouraged by the resolute bearing of their officers, the loyal men continued to fire coolly and rapidly; and the mutineers lacked the inspiration of a leader ready to sacrifice himself for their cause. They again retired out of range, and the cheer raised by the Rajputs at the main gate was echoed back by Tynan’s men.

That cheer was ill-timed. Hardly had it died away before an answering yell from the north, savage as a war-whoop, chilled the blood in their veins, for it came from inside the courtyard! A scaling-party had made the circuit, and were already beneath the north-western bastion when Dal Singh reached his post. He looked forth, and before he could give the alarm a bullet struck him in the forehead, the single distant report passing unnoticed amid the noise of battle.

“Inside the fort, lads!” Lowthian shouted. “All together!”

The garrison hastily descended, and, joining forces, charged across the courtyard to escape being cut off. But the rebels were the nearer, and should even one or two of them enter first and bar the door, the garrison was lost. In ten minutes there would be a couple of hundred sepoys inside the courtyard.

One rebel was almost in. Ted stopped, flung his musket to his shoulder, and the man toppled over. Four more pandies were close upon his heels. As the leader fell, the hindmost of these, dreading the same fate, looked back over his shoulder. A trifling incident, yet that glance cost him dear, and was worth untold gold to the white-faces in Aurungpore. For as the fellow turned he unconsciously checked his pace, and a lean Rajput, straining every nerve, closed with the faint-hearted traitor before the entrance could be gained. A bayonet-thrust, a scream, and the wretch staggered forward and fell upon his face.

But the other three were inside, and so was Karan Singh the Rajput, alone with his back to the door, cut off from his comrades. A barrier of some thirty exultant rebels had thrust themselves in front, and ladders were even now being set up against the walls by the main gate. If the thirty pandies could keep the loyalists at bay for another five minutes they would all be butchered like goats at the Dashera Festival. Then came the clang of steel, as bayonet crossed bayonet; the three officers emptied and reloaded their pistols, and a yard or two was gained.

Suddenly Ted dodged to the right, and darted at full speed round the pack of sepoys, as a three-quarter back, smartly fed by the half who has picked up the ball from beneath the feet of the scrummagers, circles round his opponents before they know what has happened. He had caught a glimpse of the plucky Karan Singh maintaining the unequal combat, and the Rajput was sore wounded though one of the pandies had fallen to his bayonet.

While still a few strides from the doorway, Ted Russell witnessed the death of the Hindu hero. As one sepoy kept Karan Singh at bay the other managed to reload and let fly, the muzzle barely a foot from the Rajput’s breast. The brave man dropped like a log, and his body fell across the threshold. Though they hastily thrust the corpse aside, Ted was upon them before the heavy door could be closed.

The enemy had not dared to pursue the ensign, fearing to turn their backs lest the British should be let in. His pistol was empty and his musket had been cast aside. One of the sepoys lunged. Ted skipped aside, and, turning on his heel, struck wildly at the other’s bayonet that was darting towards his chest. The weapon was turned aside, but though his tunic alone was ripped and he himself was untouched, his cherished sword had broken off at the hilt, and he was disarmed.

For the fraction of a second he stood helpless. So lightning-like is thought, that he had time to long for a kick at the slovenly workman who had turned out a weapon as untrustworthy as himself.

“Quick! Close the door, Bakir Khan, while I slay the whelp!”

Ted swerved, grasped the speaker’s musket-barrel with his left, and with his right hammered the face of the bewildered sepoy, who howled, but held on to the weapon. The iron-clamped door slammed and the heavy bolts groaned as Bakir Khan shot them home and turned to assist his comrade. Ted tugged at the musket with all his strength, and suddenly saw at his feet the firearm of the dead pandy. He swooped down, seized the weapon, and jumped backwards just in time, as the bayonet-point flashed harmlessly in front.

A loud pounding of musket-stocks upon the door announced that Lowthian’s handful had broken through, or else had all been slain. For an instant the sound stayed the fight inside. Was he alone left after all? Or did it mean that, could he open the door before numbers overwhelmed them, they might all be saved? Hope lent him strength. There was no bayonet to his new weapon, so he gripped it by the muzzle, and, swinging it above his head, he knocked the Brown Bess out of Bakir Khan’s hand as that false sepoy made a second lunge. Again he brought the butt-end down, this time with a thud upon the head of Bakir Khan. The second pandy recoiled, still half-dazed by the blows from Ted’s sword-hilt. There was no way of escape for him, however, and he sprang like a tiger-cat at the ensign. A third time the musket was swung aloft, and the sepoy reeled and toppled over, stunned.

Ted sprang to the door, and had drawn one of the bolts when a wild fear took hold of him. Who were on the other side? In all probability they were rebels thirsting for English blood, and why should he let them in? Through the thick door he seemed to see them, pitiless as famished wolves. Why not hide in the vast arsenal and slip out at night?

In less than a second such thoughts had flashed through his mind before he recollected that duty bade him take the risk. The last bolt was shot back; he sprang aside, ready for a charge as the door swung back, and gave a gasp of relief as Tynan and his Rajputs dashed inside.

At their heels came the rebels, and a few got through before Ted and Ambar Singh could close and bar the door. The fight inside the passage was soon over, and the Rajputs sank upon the floor and gasped for breath.

Barely five minutes had sped since Karan Singh’s body had fallen across the threshold, yet it seemed many hours. Ted could hardly realize that the main body of assailants under Pir Baksh had only just succeeded in storming the walls (for they had hesitated, fearing a trap) as he cracked the skull of Bakir Khan. Had that fourth sepoy not looked back the arsenal would have been lost.

“Lowthian’s done for, I’m afraid!” panted Tynan.

Following his gaze, Ted saw that the Rajputs had brought their commandant in. He knelt down by the side of his friend and found Tynan’s surmise only too true, for Lieutenant Lowthian had already breathed his last.

“Shot just as we reached the doorway,” Tynan explained; “and half a dozen men killed or badly wounded. What must we do, Russell? They can’t get in except through that door, can they?”

“It won’t take long to batter the door down if they shape,” Ted replied. “Luckily we’ve heaps of ammunition here, and any number of muskets. Look, this room off the passage commands the door, so set two or three men to bring up firearms and we’ll load a few dozen.”

Before Ted had finished speaking, the spirited Rajputs were emptying their muskets through the narrow slits that loop-holed the thick walls, and the rebels who had been clustering round the door, vainly attempting to batter it down, left the spot in a hurry—at least all did who were able. Ted then posted a couple of men to watch the north-western face of the building and give the alarm if necessary. Blood had been flowing freely down the ensign’s face, and he now found time to staunch it. He was not sure when he had received the wound, but at some time or other during the struggle in the passage a bayonet-point had torn the skin from mouth to ear.

The lull in the storm lasted for nearly an hour. Many of the pandies contemptuously flouted the commands of their officers, and, giving up the attack on the fort, began to seek fresh plunder in the town, or joined in the half-hearted attempts to render the English house untenable. The remainder of the force, gathered together by Pir Baksh, kept up a long-range fire through the loopholes, in the hope that some bullets might find their billets.

“Why don’t Munro come to the rescue?” Harry Tynan bitterly demanded. “With eighty men he could break through this gang of cowards, if only he had the pluck to try.”

“He can’t,” Ted retorted; “they’re penned in there like sheep. And how could he break through with nearly a dozen women and kids to protect? Would you have him leave them to their fate?”

“Half his men could do it.”

“Not they—nor twice his whole force. It’s a soldier’s risk that we bargained for when we took our commissions. We may win through yet; and if not, we must just stick to it as long as we can. Well, what’s the matter now, havildar?”

Ambar Singh had left his post.

“The dogs are about to make a rush, Ensign Sahib. They Have brought logs and beams and mean to batter down the door. Listen! They are volley-firing to keep us from the loopholes.”

The fusillade had suddenly redoubled—steady volleys this time—and a hail of lead pattered against the walls, and a few bullets smacked against the sides of the slits and cannoned shapeless into the room.

“Quick, upstairs, you three!” Ted cried. “Take as many muskets as you can carry and fire rapidly!”

Three sepoys nodded significantly and ran up the stairs. In another moment a succession of reports from above announced that they understood their business. As our hero had intended, the rebels jumped at the conclusion that their fire having become too hot, the garrison had shifted, so they changed their aim.

Instantly the abandoned loopholes were occupied, just as two parties, each of six or eight men bearing improvised battering-rams, charged the door at full speed. Crack went eight muskets together, and half a dozen fell. Fresh firearms were handed to the marksmen, and the logs were dropped as the few survivors scuttled away. For a third time the reports rang out, and only one of the log-carriers rejoined his comrades.

“Down, men!” Ted gave warning, as the rebels savagely changed their aim once more and swept the lower embrasures with their fire. One poor fellow was not quite quick enough. Before he could duck a bullet had entered his forehead. Setting aside the two Rajputs who were dangerously wounded, there were now twelve sepoys and two English lads to defend the place, and of these fourteen five were wounded.

“Curse the bloodthirsty ruffians!” Tynan hissed.

His blood was up. Springing to a loophole he fired twice, bringing down a man each time.

“Be careful,” Ted cautioned him. “That won’t pay.”

“The sooner it’s over the better,” Tynan replied, but took the advice all the same.

The hostile fire gradually slackened, and the garrison were shortly enabled to watch the proceedings of their adversaries. They could see Pir Baksh vainly exhorting the mutineers to make a second attempt. But the sepoys shook their heads. The danger was too great, or why did not Pir Baksh himself lead them, they asked. Their English officers were wont to share the danger with the sepoys, but he, Pir Baksh, was careful to keep out of range whenever he sent them forward. No, they preferred to wait for night, when the risk would be small.

Judging that they would be safe for another hour at least, the two Englishmen ordered food to be prepared. They anticipated that the crisis would come with the sunset, and strength must be kept up.

“What are you grinning at?” asked Tynan, as they sat cross-legged over the meal.

“I was thinking what a rummy go it is,” Ted replied, “that we two of all the officers should be here together. We haven’t been friends, Tynan, but if ever we get out of this hole I hope we will be. And if we don’t get out, I trust we can die without any bad feeling between us. Shake hands on it, old chap.”

Tynan leant forward to meet the proffered hand.

“All right, Russell! I’m agreeable. It ain’t my fault that we’ve not been friends.”

This was not a very gracious speech, and Ted’s ardour was damped. He shook hands, however, saying:

“We must back one another up to-day.”

“Right! But look here, you mustn’t forget that I’m senior officer here. You’ve been giving orders pretty freely.”

“Because you didn’t seem ready with any suggestions.”

“It’s my turn now, remember,” Tynan asserted in an aggrieved tone; and Ted felt sorry he had spoken, as the other seemed incapable of sinking his personal feelings even at such a time. Unless his senior officer showed more sign of rising to the occasion, he determined to continue to issue orders.

Though the magazine at Aurungpore was not a large one, its capture would prove an enormous boon to the rebel cause, for therein was stored a quantity of ammunition and material of war. Armed therewith, all the rabble of the town would soon be equipped as soldiers, and our ensign understood what would then become of his friends and comrades, and above all of his brother’s sweetheart. A shiver ran down his spine as he remembered Jim’s parting whisper, and there rose before him the picture of the girl who had saved his life and whom he secretly adored. He vowed to do his duty manfully, and never to despair while there remained the least hope of preventing the ravening wolves outside from gaining access to the stores.

“What the deuce are you up to now?” Tynan broke in.

The senior ensign had been regarding the junior’s meditations with considerable curiosity, wondering how he could become so absorbed at so critical a time. His query had been called forth by a sudden change of expression that had overspread his comrade’s features. Ted’s eyes had opened wide, and he had given an almost imperceptible gasp, sure signs that some startling idea had come upon him unawares.

“What is it, Russell?” Tynan repeated.

“Oh, nothing, nothing!” Ted hastily assured him. “I was just thinking what an awful business this is.”

“Has that only just occurred to you?” his comrade sullenly inquired, convinced that Ted was keeping something back.

And so he was. Not that he wished to mislead his brother officer but rather because the idea that had so unceremoniously thrust itself in front of him, suggested an action so appalling as almost to stupefy him. He must think, think, think. Could he bring himself to do it? Ought he to do it?

Hardly the place or time this for quiet meditation, for the weighing of pros and cons. One of the watchers signalled that the pandies had again lost patience, and to confirm his words the heavy fusillade recommenced, and the ensign ceased to ponder and began to act. The rebels had now got the range with deadly accuracy, and unless he courted death, none of the garrison dared return the fire.

Our hero did make one such attempt, and reduced the number of one of the battering-crews. But before he could get in a second shot the muzzle of his musket was struck and dented, and a bullet whistled through his hair, grazing the skin. He crouched down and put his hand to his head, fearing he was done for. A soft thud and rattle beside him announced the fall of a sepoy who had followed the rash example with fatal courage. Forgetting his own wound the ensign knelt beside the Rajput and raised his head. The poor fellow still breathed but was going fast, and a shudder ran through the boy as the man died in his arms, true to the end.

“Are you hurt?” Tynan asked.

“I’m not quite sure. I don’t think so.”

“Let me see. Oh, it’s only a scratch.”

The sepoys in the room above, less hampered by the rebel fire, were answering back to some purpose until they too were silenced, one of their number being mortally wounded. A crash against the stout door seemed to shake the house, and before the vibration ceased another bang was heard. Englishmen and Rajputs were firing hastily whenever an opportunity occurred, but the pandies now held the upper hand. A splintering noise followed the next crash.

“What can we do, Russell? What can we do?” Tynan cried. “They’ll be in in a moment!”

Backed by the strength of half a dozen men the logs crashed once more against the barrier, and the hearts of the garrison were heavy as lead.

“We’re not done for yet,” Ted stoutly replied. “We must wait for them in the passage. We may yet hold the passage, Ambar Singh; and should we die, men will speak of your deeds from generation to generation.”

“We can hold them back for a time, sahib. Come, my children, and thou, Bisesar Rai, and thou, Dwarika Rai, load and pass us the muskets as we lie in the doorway.”

Of the twenty-two Rajputs ten were still able to fight, and three others remained alive though sorely wounded. They were now all together, and Ted, Ambar Singh the havildar, and as many others as could crowd in, were lying full length before the wide-arched entrance to the room. From the slowly-yielding door the passage ran straight for a few paces before curving to the right, and an enemy coming round the bend would be at a great disadvantage, for the best marksmen of the garrison waited with ready muskets, their elbows on the threshold, their bodies within the room. Behind them two comrades stood, a loaded musket in each hand, to exchange for the emptied weapons, and beside them knelt Bisesar Rai and Dwarika Rai busily loading the firearms. The pandies could not take aim without coming into full view, but the defenders could fire with a minimum of exposure, and could draw back their heads into safety whenever they saw a musket-barrel pointing at random towards them.

A louder crash, a shrill yell, and a mob of maddened sepoys swept inside and round the bend. Six muskets cracked at once, and the yells changed to howls of dismay. A second volley—not in unison this time, but no less effective—and the sepoys turned and fled. The victory was not to be so easy as they had imagined. Had the garrison been armed as were they, with one Brown Bess apiece and a limited supply of ammunition, it would all have been over long ago they told themselves, but when volley followed volley with such rapidity, it was like facing a regiment. The sepoys were not cowards as a rule, but they knew they were playing a traitor’s part. In a good cause, well led, they would have risked the danger, even as the handful of loyal Rajputs were devoting their lives to their duty.

A nerve-ruining silence, broken only by the moans of the wounded who lay on the floor, followed the shrill outcries. The rebels were baffled but not defeated. Slowly, painfully the minutes dragged, then two black heads showed round the bend, and two spurts of flame flashed out. Before the reports had reached them, Ted and Ambar Singh had pressed their fingers, and two sepoys fell forward on their faces. The defenders were untouched, the rebels having fired at random, and for a while none dared follow their example.

In despair several of the raging mob pushed their musket-barrels round the bend and let fly, in the hope that an occasional bullet out of many might reduce the number of their dogged antagonists. But Ted drew his men back from the doorway until the sepoys were tired of this amusement.

Each rebel urged his neighbour to face the fire of those death-dealing muskets; each man knew that the end was at hand, and preferred to hold himself back that he might share in the plunder. Now that they were no longer a glorious regiment but a mere mob of rebels, none was ready to give his life for the cause. The garrison also knew that the end was drawing near, and were in no way deceived by the momentary calm.

“Hullo!” Ted cried, and stared open-mouthed. “What’s that for?”

A white cloth tied round the barrel of a musket had been poked round the corner.

“A truce, sahibs!” a voice called in Urdu. “We wish to treat with you and save your lives. May I step forward in safety?”

“One man may,” Tynan replied, “but he will be a dead man should there be any sign of treachery.”

“Sahib, there will be none; I give my word of honour.”

So saying, Pir Baksh stepped round the bend, armed only with a smile that he doubtless intended to be ingratiating.

“Ye are gallant warriors,” he began, when Ted, interrupting the flow of words, ordered the rascal to speak in English, not Urdu. The subadar showed the whites of his eyes as he smiled, and grimly shook his head. For the benefit of the Rajputs he resumed in the vernacular:

“Ye cannot hope to hold out much longer, so let there be no further bloodshed. Surrender the fort and we will spare your lives.”

“What do you think, Russell?” Tynan hurriedly whispered. “Do you believe they mean it?”

“Not they!” was Ted’s scornful reply.

“Perhaps they do, though. I’ll ask him what they intend to do with us.”

“Why, you can’t mean to give up the magazine under any conditions?” our astonished ensign demanded, his eyes contracting as he stared at his senior officer.

“They’ll have it all the same if they kill us, though,” Tynan muttered, lowering his eyes, unable to meet his comrade’s gaze. “So what’s the odds. May as well save our lives while there’s a chance.”

He thereupon made answer to the jemadar.

“If we surrender, what will you do with us?”

“We will keep you captive, but promise you your lives,” came the prompt reply.

“Will you allow us to join our friends over yonder? If not, we shall still fight, and we are not so helpless as you think.” Tynan was not quite a coward, and he used the threat with some show of spirit.

“I cannot promise that without consulting my friends.”

So saying, the subadar retired for further instructions. Ted had had time for reflection.

“Tynan,” he announced, “I sha’n’t agree to surrender. We’ve no right to do it! Look what a lift it would give them if they could get all these arms and ammunition.”

Our ensign had quite made up his mind what to do. If his death would make more secure the position of his comrades in the town he was prepared to die. There was satisfaction in the reflection that Ethel Woodburn would know that he had been staunch to the last. Poor Tynan had no friends among the officers of his corps, and consequently there was nothing to uplift his soul above the fear of death, and he had clutched eagerly at the straw of hope held out by Pir Baksh.

“Well, they’ll get it all the same after they’ve done for us,” he bitterly replied. “May as well live to fight another day. I was a fool ever to come to this accursed land. What right had Munro to leave us here?”

Before Ted could reply the white flag was thrust round the corner and the subadar returned.

“We agree to what you ask,” said he. “We will permit you to rejoin your friends in safety.”

“I tell you I shall not agree to surrender,” the junior ensign angrily declared.

“You fool! What’s the good of holding out any longer? Well, I shall surrender, and I’m chief here.”

“You’re not! You’re under Munro’s orders, and those were to hold the fort until he sends help. If you attempt to surrender you’re a traitor.”

Ted turned to Ambar Singh and the sepoys.

“Do not listen to the dogs,” said he. “Let us fight to the end, as your forefathers did against the Moguls. They are not to be trusted; they will assuredly slay us if we yield.”

The sepoys stoutly assented. They had little faith in the Mohammedans, who were seeking their lives,—the men who had murdered Markham Sahib.

“You are right, sahib,” said the havildar, “and we will fight by your side. That low-caste hound,” pointing to Pir Baksh, “is afraid of us, and wishes to disarm us with soft words, but we know him.”

Tynan saw his authority taken from him, the sepoys understanding and looking to Ted as their leader.

“How dare you?” he hotly demanded.

“Oh, go away! You’ve nothing to do with this business.” Ted sneered, not too generously, for Tynan had disgusted him. With the same breath he ordered Pir Baksh to clear away, and the firing recommenced.

The time had come for him to act upon the resolve he had made, a resolve to sacrifice himself and his already-doomed handful, rather than allow the capture of the stores to endanger the safety of his countrymen. The idea of blowing up the magazine had come upon him suddenly as he remembered the news that had arrived yesterday from Delhi,—how Lieutenant Willoughby and his nine heroes had blown up the immense arsenal there and destroyed hundreds of rebels.

The entrance to the magazine was through the room in which they lay. The rebels were quiet, plotting some new move, no doubt, so, leaving the trusty Ambar Singh in charge, Ted proceeded to the spot and began to lay a train of powder to connect the barrels with their post. Before the others had guessed his intention he had brought the train within the room, and the white-faced senior ensign, who had lost by now the last remnant of his pluck, jabbered incoherently and attempted to interfere, until Ted roughly threatened to blow his brains out. Dazed and trembling the wretched boy shifted as far as he could from the black trail. The Rajputs looked on with frightened eyes, half-paralysed by the shock of this new terror; and Dwarika Rai fell on his knees and begged the ensign to have mercy, for such a fate meant more than death to these Hindus.

For a moment the boy’s heart failed him; the thought was too awful. To be blown into a hundred pieces, how terrible it seemed! And what right had he to condemn these faithful men to such a death?

Then out spake the havildar.

“If we have to die, let us die like men. Fire the train, sahib!”

“Nay, not yet. Our duty is to stand by our post until the last. No man must leave the room, though.”

He lighted a candle and placed it within easy reach, that the flame might be ready on the shortest notice.

“Ha!” whispered Ambar Singh, and there was a reckless note in his voice. “The jackals are cunning. See!”

Round the bend was pushed forward a large sack full of sand, then another; and soon a third filled up the space. As the last was clumsily poked into its place between the others it tottered and overbalanced, and a couple of pandies leant forward to lift it up. Two muskets spat forth flame and the rebels rolled over in a heap, upsetting another sack. Quick as thought, as the sepoys were engaged in pulling their wounded comrades back, Ted ran with light steps down the passage, keeping close to the farther wall, and seizing a sack with either hand, dragged them away before the amazed mutineers had time to fire.

To make doubly sure of his safety Ambar Singh and his men let fly, and the bullets, sweeping across the bend, covered the lad’s return. Amid the cheers of the loyalists the bags were propped in the doorway to serve as a rampart for them, and they began to mock the traitors.

But this triumph could merely put off the evil moment. In another half-hour fresh sand-bags had been brought in, and before long the pandies were in a position to command the doorway. As the news spread that the end was near the mob of sepoys increased, and Ted smiled to himself. He addressed the Rajputs:

“You have done your duty in a manner worthy of your ancestors, and I am going to do mine. Run for your lives!”

“No, Russell, you sha’n’t!” cried Tynan, whose nerve had completely broken down. “I surrender,—Pir Baksh, I surrender!” He tried to snatch the light from his comrade’s hand. Ted covered him with his pistol, and, pointing across the passage, said simply:

“Run for your life!”

Hot all over, his fingers tingling and his head ringing—partly dread of the horror and partly a glorious exultation—the boy dropped the lighted candle on the thin trail of powder, and darted from the room as a horde of sepoys rushed in.

CHAPTER IX
Defence of the Commissioner’s House

When Major Munro’s eighty officers and men arrived inside the house of refuge, they found that the few civilians, ladies, and children of Aurungpore had all escaped thereto, having been warned in time. At the first sign of outbreak they had found access to the fort impossible, and had taken refuge in the Commissioner’s house, the largest and strongest in the town, situated within easy reach of all the European bungalows, and close to the fort itself. They were in sore plight when the soldiers forced their way in—another half-hour would have been too late.

From roof, loophole, and sheltered parapet blazed the muskets of the Rajputs, lending their aid to the rifles of the English gentlemen, and the mob drew back, raging furiously, but afraid to strike at close quarters. The sad story was told; dry-eyed but heavy-hearted the residents heard of the murder of their friends. The wounded men were speedily given every possible assistance, and the ladies left nothing undone to alleviate their pain. To tend the sufferers was their first care, but the great-hearted Englishwomen insisted on taking their share in the defence, refusing to leave the posts of danger for the comparative safety of the inner rooms whilst there were rifles and muskets to load and hand to the marksmen.

Greatly to his dismay Munro found it quite impossible to send aid to the little garrison of the fort, the route being blocked by hundreds of fanatical savages. If he should despatch even half his command to break their way through they would be destroyed, and the remaining half would fall an easy prey to the triumphant rebels.

The continued fusillade from the direction of the fort told him that the handful of defenders he had left behind was being hotly assailed, and he sadly feared that he had left them there to die. Bitterly the major regretted his error. Such concentrated fury on the part of the inhabitants had never been anticipated; he had felt sure of clearing the street and bringing the party safely back, and he had made a mistake.

Colonel Woodburn’s wound, though serious, was not dangerous, and before long Ethel was able to leave him for a short time. Whilst the soldiers were breaking their way through the crowd, she had seen her father carried in their midst, and had eyes for none but him. Now she looked around for Ted and could not see him.

“Where is Ted Russell, Major Munro? He’s not—surely he has not been murdered!”

Munro was agitated, and showed it.

“He’s in the fort, Ethel; I left Lowthian, Tynan, and Russell with a few sepoys to guard it, and they’re being attacked. Listen! I ought not to have left ’em. Leigh,” he exclaimed, turning to an officer beside him, “is there nothing to be done? Can we leave those fellows to die? And if the fort is captured there is no escape for us!”

Lieutenant Leigh shook his head.

“We are helpless, sir. If we make a sortie not one of us would reach the fort, and the women would be left without protectors.”

Still the rattle of musketry kept up, and the inmates listened with troubled hearts for the firing to cease—the signal of the capture of the fort and the death of its garrison.

“It’s stopped!” groaned Sir Arthur Fletcher, and a shudder ran through the house.

Ethel Woodburn turned pale, shuddered, and gripped the table for support. Ted Russell murdered by those savages! She recalled the ensign’s merry looks and honest nature, and realized what a place the boy had won in her heart. Could it be possible that she would never see him again? How terribly cut up Jim would be!

Jim! Aye, what of him? If her own trusted, well-tried regiment could so suddenly transform itself into a horde of fiends, what might not have happened to the Guides, that collection of outlaws and robbers? In all probability her lover had already been murdered. Her grief for Ted gave way to a greater anxiety regarding the fate of her betrothed. She walked aimlessly towards the window and looked out upon the distant mob, her thoughts far away from Aurungpore.

“Miss Woodburn, for heaven’s sake come away from the window!” Sir Arthur Fletcher almost shrieked as he planted himself in front of the girl. “They are not firing now, but—”

A bullet crashed through the shattered window, and passing within an inch of the Commissioner’s head, flattened itself against the far wall. Ethel awoke and skipped aside, and, seeing that she was safe, Sir Arthur followed suit. She had forgotten her own danger; she had not reflected that, even had the Guides proved true to their salt, nothing seemed less likely than that Jim Russell would ever see her again. She thanked Sir Arthur mechanically, and began to wonder how poor Jim would bear the news of her death. Having no doubt of his great love for her, her grief was more for him than for herself, horrible as the outlook was.

Led by Major Munro, the men grimly went on with their work of strengthening the defences of the house, whilst their picked shots replied to the random firing.

Suddenly another volley rang out from the direction of the fort; then a second; then the loud irregular firing of the pandies.

“They’re not done for yet!” Munro cried. “Thank God, there is still a chance!”

For half an hour the distant firing was heard, and intense anxiety prevailed as it gradually died away. The tension was nerve-shattering; so much so, that a half-hearted attack upon the house came almost as a relief from the suspense. Strong in their defences, they once more beat the rebels back with heavy loss, and another weary period of waiting ensued.

Volley after volley, regular and disciplined as though with blank cartridge on parade, caused their hearts to beat more wildly. What could it mean? The volley was too heavy to have been the work of the little garrison, and so far the traitors had fired independently, as each man thought best, without regard to any word of command. Could help have come?

They looked out towards the parade-ground, and the unconcerned appearance of the groups that moved restlessly up and down destroyed this wild hope. Besides, who could possibly have come to the rescue? They had heard the cracks of the volleys that covered the first rush of the battering crews. Unable to fathom its meaning, they rejoiced therein as a proof that their comrades still held out.

Again a lull, and again an assault upon their own stronghold, directed this time against the rear of the house. For a space they had no time to think of the fort, so hotly were they engaged; but the rabble lacked resolute leaders, and the budmashes would obey no commands. Thirty of their bravest were slain, and the others sneaked away like a pack of wolves, beaten and cowed. So far the garrison had lost only two men killed and one badly wounded.

The sun was wheeling slowly downwards beyond the fort, and for a time no sound had been heard save the yells of the excited mob ebbing and flowing through the streets.

“It seems wicked to stay here in safety, Major,” Ethel whispered, “and to think of our plucky fellows at the mercy of those fiends.”

The major made no reply. For hours that same thought had made him wretched, but he knew better than she how helpless was their own position.

“Could we not make a sortie?” the girl continued. “Might it not be possible, as soon as darkness comes, for us all to make a rush for the fort? We might take them completely by surprise, and once inside, a hundred could hold it for weeks. If only we could get the guns!”

Munro shook his head sadly.

“A hundred to one that we should find the rebels in possession, Ethel,” he made answer, “and then all would indeed be lost. But we should never get so far. Here we may hold our own for days—unless indeed the pandies take the fort and are able to load the guns—but not for half an hour in the street with women to protect and wounded men to carry. No, it is not possible; would it were! Believe me, Ethel, there is not a man here but would gladly take the risk if we had only ourselves to think of.”

“I know it well,” she admitted, “and I know you are right; but it is horrible, horrible to think of, and it is our fault. If we were not here you men could rescue them. That seems so hard.”

“Listen!” said Leigh. “I think I hear the sound of firing again. It is very faint.”

Everyone listened intently, and Ethel could hear the ticking of her watch. She was the first to break the silence.

“I think I hear it. The sound comes from inside the fort.”

She had hardly spoken the words when the roar of a tremendous explosion filled their ears and almost deafened them. The house shook, and a column of dense smoke rose where the fort had been. They looked at one another with blanched faces and then at the ruin in front. That portion of the fort which contained the magazine was demolished, and some buildings that had partially obstructed their view were dismantled or levelled with the ground. Streams of natives rushed to and fro in wild confusion, shrieking with pain and fear. Masses of timber and masonry fell around, killing numbers in the closely-packed streets, and the scene was one of destruction and desolation.

Major Munro clapped his hand to his thigh; his face glowed with admiration and enthusiasm.

“Lowthian’s done that!” he exclaimed. “He’s saved the arsenal from their clutches.——Gallant fellows!”

“But what of Ted Russell?” Ethel breathlessly asked. “And of Lieutenant Lowthian and the others?” she added as an afterthought.

Munro hesitated before replying.

“I’m afraid there’s little hope for them, my dear Ethel; though they do say that those nearest sometimes escape better than others farther away.” This was also an afterthought, added from a weak desire to cheer.

The girl turned away her head to hide her emotion and returned to her father’s room. In awed whispers the men discussed the glorious act, and various conjectures were hazarded as to the manner of its doing and the possibility of their comrades’ escape.

Away in the west the sun had just vanished below the horizon and darkness set in swiftly. The vicinity of the Commissioner’s house seemed deserted, and no fresh attack was made that night. Evidently that bloodthirsty crew was awed and its ardour damped by the appalling vengeance taken by the unbeaten handful. Scores had been killed, and yet more injured, by the force of the explosion.

They had been taught the lesson that it does not pay to push white men too far, and Munro felt assured that for that night at least the house was safe. Yet he neglected no precaution, and guards were set on every side, whilst the remainder of the garrison were ordered to rest whether they wished to or not. Few could sleep, try as they would, and a loud challenge by one of the sentries at the rear brought men and women flocking to the scene, ready for the fray.

Ethel hastened to the spot, in time to see the door thrown open, and two ragged figures, black with smoke and grime, enter the house. A loud cheer was raised as the door was shut and barricaded.

“Ted!” she joyfully cried. “You, Ted?”

To our hero’s embarrassment she stepped forward and kissed his smoke-begrimed countenance.

Yes, Ensign Russell had escaped! Strange to say, he and Havildar Ambar Singh, the other survivor, had been the nearest to the magazine when the explosion occurred, and yet they had escaped its worst effects. The havildar had pluckily waited for the ensign when the others ran for safety, and, as they dashed out of the room, they crashed into the thick of the triumphant pandies.

But no attempt was made to kill them. The rebels had pulled up short as they saw and heard the spluttering powder, wild terror in their eyes; and the foremost tried to back away from the spot. The crush was too great, however, though Ted and Ambar Singh had time to bore their way into the crowd. They remembered no more. When they came to themselves it was dark, and they were lying amid a heap of killed and injured men, with stones and bricks scattered all around. They were both cut and badly bruised, and Ambar Singh’s foot was crushed. In the darkness they had been able to steal away, stumbling over dead bodies and wrecked masonry, until they found themselves in the open. So great was the awe that had come upon the rebels that the neighbourhood was deserted, so they crept stealthily through the streets, the havildar nearly dead with pain. Accosted once or twice, Ambar Singh had answered, passing himself and his companion off as rebels.

As Ted was speaking the plucky Rajput sergeant fainted away, and was carried to the hospital-room. Munro interrupted the congratulations and showers of questions by ordering everyone to lie down again, except the guards. Ted at least was not sorry to obey the command.

Next day he told the tale of the defence of the fort, of the death of Lowthian, and of the heroism of Ambar Singh and his Rajputs. Men and women forgot their own danger for a space, and crowded round to listen to the ensign’s story. No need to say that he was silent respecting Tynan’s willingness to surrender to Pir Baksh. He used the word “we”, not “I”, throughout.

“But who first thought of destroying the magazine?” asked the commandant. “You say ‘we’ decided to do it. The thought would not occur to both Tynan and yourself at once.”

Ted admitted that the plan was his; also, in reply to the next question, that it was he who had fired the train.

“But it was Tynan’s job as senior officer to do that.”

“Well, you see, sir, I was the one to—to suggest it; so it was only fair that I should carry it out.”

“Humph!” said the major, who had his own opinion about the affair.

“You’re a plucky fellow, Russell, and it’s possible that you’ve saved us all. The pandies seem thoroughly disheartened to-day.”

Paterson passed his arm through Ted’s and whispered:

“Well done, old man! I—I can’t say what I think about it;” and as he caught Ethel’s glance of admiration, approval, and affection there was no prouder officer in all India than Ensign Russell.

“I hope that rascal Pir Baksh has been killed,” he said presently. “Did you know, Major, that it was he who shot the colonel?”

“No. Are you sure, Ted? He always seemed such a plausible fellow.”

“I didn’t see him myself, but Tynan told us that he saw the deed. Certainly Pir Baksh seemed to be the leader in the attack on the fort.”

“Pir Baksh!” said Havildar Ambar Singh as he limped into the room. “The hound is surely dead. Major Sahib, I have written down the names of all my men who perished in the fort yesterday, so that their families may get the pension if you English win, and that their names may be recorded as true to their salt.”

“Thank you, Havildar! It’s a good officer who thinks first of his men. How is your foot to-day?”

“Better, sahib; better, thanks! I do not grudge the injury if that son of a hyena, Pir Baksh, has been killed. If the young sahib here had not been resolute and taken over the command, he would have deceived Tynan Sahib, and we should have been delivered into their hands to be murdered.”

“Ah!” said Munro, pricking his ears; “so Russell Sahib had to take over the command? How was that?”

“The other was scared, Major Sahib. True, he was but a lad, and it is hardly to be wondered at. But Russell Sahib refused to surrender, and appealed to us, and we put aside the other and looked to this one as our leader. Ha! Russell Sahib played the man, for he threatened to shoot his comrade when the other objected to being blown up. He will make a general, will the Ensign Sahib.”

“Is this story true, Russell?” demanded Munro.

“It’s true, sir; but you oughtn’t to be hard on Tynan. He was plucky enough most of the time.”

“John Lawrence shall know about this if I live,” said the major with unwonted emphasis. “All England shall know about it.”

“But you won’t say anything about Tynan, sir?” Ted asked.

“No, that wouldn’t do. We must treat him as dead—ignore his presence in the fort altogether.”

Colonel Woodburn’s condition was hopeful. The bullet had been successfully extracted, and he was doing well. He sent for Ted, and made him tell the story from beginning to end. Our hero was getting rather tired of it, and Ethel was merciless. She would not allow him to cut out the least incident. The colonel was mightily pleased.

“Do you know,” the ensign observed as they quitted the invalid’s room, “in the midst of the crowd I noticed the three fanatics who set on us in the bazaar. I expect the poor beggars are blown to bits by now.”

“I suppose there is no chance,” Miss Woodburn asked, “that that poor boy Tynan has survived?”

“I’m afraid not. I think the havildar and I are the only survivors, but of course there was no time to make certain.”

“Poor Tynan!” she murmured, more to herself than to her companion. “I have always felt so sorry for the boy since he joined us.”

“Have you? Why? Don’t think me a brute, Ethel, if I say that since that event most of our fellows seem to have pitied the regiment most.”

“You have no right to say that, Ted,” Ethel declared, her clear, steadfast eyes regarding the ensign reproachfully. “Tynan has lost his life, we believe, and you know the Latin tag about speaking good or nothing at all of the dead.”

Ted was rather surprised. A few moments ago he had tried to omit all mention of Tynan’s cowardice, but she had insisted on the whole truth. He recollected having read that even the most charming members of the sex were changeable and unaccountable.

“I’m sorry,” said he. “I won’t say anything harsh about Tynan; but why were you so sorry for him all along?”

“Because it struck me as so pitiable that he made no real friends, and I never once noticed him looking downright happy. The most he seemed to get out of life was a miserable pretence of enjoyment—a mere attempt to persuade himself that he was having a good time. His has been such a wasted life, Ted. I have thought a great deal about it this morning and last night, and it has seemed so very sad. None of the healthy pleasures and pursuits that have meant so much to you and Paterson appealed to him in the least.”

“What have Russell and I been doing now, Miss Ethel?” a well-known voice broke in, and Paterson joined them.

Miss Woodburn hesitated and turned red. To speak freely with her future brother-in-law was one thing, to discuss serious subjects with a couple of light-hearted ensigns at once was quite another. Ted came to the rescue.

“Miss Woodburn was saying how sorry she has always been for poor Tynan,” he explained.

“So have I,” said Alec slowly; “at least at times, when he was not in the way, but I’m sorry to say I couldn’t stand him when he was close at hand. I wish now that I hadn’t tried so hard to be sarcastic.”

“You would have risked your lives to save him from death or danger,” said Ethel, “but it was harder to try and save him from himself. At least I found it so, for more than once I resolved to try to gain his confidence and interest him in more sensible pursuits, but being too cowardly and selfish, I was too easily discouraged.”

“He was hardly the sort one could make a friend of,” Paterson mused aloud. “You’re right though, Miss Ethel, it was just selfishness and conceit on our part to regard ourselves as superior beings just because we didn’t happen to like the sort of things he cared about.”

“We looked at everything from a different point of view,” Ethel resumed after a pause, “and got more enjoyment out of life.”

“I never saw it in that light before,” said Ted, “but I think I know what you mean. For instance, when we were all so excited over the race, he had no sympathy whatever with the horses or riders, but just regarded the affair as so much money to be won or lost.”

“Yes, but don’t be scornful, Ted. Think of all he has lost during his short lifetime by not having a healthy mind. Think of all the happiness you have enjoyed from your love of sports and games, through your friendships and your admiration for what is good and right. But you are rather young quite to grasp what I mean.”

Ethel Woodburn, aged twenty-one, spoke as though she felt the wisdom of ages within her, and the boys could not help glancing at one another. She caught the glance, and her eyes twinkled as she continued:

“One could easily see that Tynan was a spoiled child, cursed with foolish parents. I think, Ted, that of all selfish people, those parents who are too generous to deny their children anything, or too tender-hearted to punish them, are the most criminally selfish. And that’s what made me so sorry for the boy. Once or twice I was on the point of asking you to give him a bit of your friendship, but somehow I didn’t quite like to do it.”

“Well,” said Ted, “I’m sorry for my share in any rows we had, and I forgive him his share.”

“Rather easy for us to forgive one who is dead, is it not, Ted? Can we forgive now, at this moment, those rebels who want to kill us?”

“I suppose that you forgive ’em, Ethel, but I can’t say that I do.”

“But I didn’t forgive Tynan, Ted. I heard of that fight you had; in fact, I met Tynan just afterwards, and very tactlessly asked him what had happened, supposing he had met with an accident. Unluckily he had not had time to cool down, and—well, he laughed in my face and forgot himself. You see, his people are wealthy, but not quite—you know what I mean?—he’s not a gentleman, and he hinted at the cause of your fight.”

“The cad!” said Ted.

“Steady, old boy! I felt as if I could never forgive him, so please don’t imagine I’m making myself out better than you. I feel bad about it now, and if by any chance he should escape I should find it easy to forgive him, though there’s little credit in that.”

“I didn’t think he could have done such a thing,” said Ted. “I forgive that mullah and his friends who knifed me, so long as I think they’ve both been killed, but if I should see ’em to-morrow I’m afraid I should still remember that I owe ’em one.”

“Yet, as I said before, you’d risk your life willingly enough to save theirs, just as they do in the story-books.” Miss Woodburn laughed as she went on: “I must say that it annoys me to read those tales entitled A Noble Revenge or Coals of Fire, or something of the kind, where someone who has been greatly injured takes his revenge by saving his enemy from drowning, or climbs to the top story of a burning house and rescues the evil-doer, who promptly repents. It’s all very noble, of course; but it’s such a thorough vindication, and such glory for the rescuer, that a more complete triumph over one’s enemy couldn’t be wished for. What could one desire better than to make your enemy feel small, and acknowledge how much nobler you are than he?”

“I should like,” said Ted, with feeling, “to make these beggars outside feel small. We’ve drifted into a curious talk, considering our situation.”

“Not a bit of it,” said Alec. “I quite agree with you, Miss Ethel. I must go and relieve Leigh now, and you relieve me in a couple of hours, Ted. Miss Woodburn, I’m glad we’ve had this talk, and I sha’n’t forget it.”

“And I must go back to father now,” said Ethel, whereupon Ted turned to accompany her.

The colonel was fast asleep, breathing easily.

“Good-bye for a few hours, Ethel!” said the ensign; and added in a low, hesitating tone, “You’re a saint.”

“I! Oh, Ted, you little know me—you and Jim. It’s easy to forgive one who can no longer injure you, but it’s hard to live your ordinary life with a person who wishes to injure you, or who has done so, and who hates and despises you. What a terrible prig you must think me, Ted! I know I can’t feel like that myself. I only wish I could.”

Ted glanced guiltily round. There was no one in the room save Colonel Woodburn, and he was sleeping, undisturbed by their whispering. Seizing the girl’s hand he kissed it, awkwardly and nervously, then hastily dropping it blushed furiously.

“There!” exclaimed the ensign jerkily. “I knew I should do it some day. I’m sure Jim never did that.”

“Oh—?”

Ethel’s face was also flushed, and she looked radiantly charming as she gave utterance to the long-drawn, quizzing exclamation, and a new light broke in upon Ted.

“What! Old Jim?” he asked. “Well, who’d have thought it? Lucky beggar! It’s a dainty little hand.”

“Silence, sir! I must ask you to leave the room.”

“Good-bye, then, little sister!”