Our friends were with the 4th Column. This force, of which Reid (though but a major) was made commandant in consideration of the splendid way in which he had held the Ridge, consisted of detachments of European regiments, the Sirmur Battalion, the Guides Infantry, and the Rajah of Jummu's contingent. Its duty was to sweep through the suburbs of Paharunpur and Kishengang, clearing these of the enemy, and then enter the city by the Lahore Gate. Major Reid gathered his officers together to give them final instructions, and then, accompanied by Ensign Russell, entered the Gurkha hospital, where he told his wounded heroes the plans for the morrow. The scene was one that cut Ted to the heart.

Of those five hundred men, whose proud arrival he had witnessed three months ago, only five score remained fit for duty, and many even of this hundred had been wounded or were now suffering from injuries which the tough and indomitable little fellows did not consider sufficiently severe to keep them from their work. On the floor (for there were no cots) lay one hundred and fifty badly-wounded and maimed Gurkhas--the remainder had lost their lives guarding their trust. The hearts of the officers could not but be greatly touched by the sight of such suffering so nobly borne, but Reid's sadness was mingled with pride that he commanded so gallant a regiment. The Gurkhas glanced up at their officer with dog-like looks of affection, and right proud they were too of such a commandant. Sorrowfully he told the men lying there, listening, regardless of their pain, that only one hundred of his own plucky lads would be able to follow him to the assault. As though the word of command had been given, every little Gurkha in that room sprang up or painfully rose to his knees and vowed to follow the chief, even if he had to crawl or limp to the attack. Tears came to the eyes of both Englishmen at the sight of such loyal devotion, and they endeavoured to dissuade, but the little hillmen insisted. Of those hundred and fifty men who had been reported by the doctor as unfit for service, ninety-five were allowed to go,[23] and we can guess what torture from unhealed wounds and from sickness they must have cheerfully undergone.

But go they would, for the honour of the Sirmur Battalion, and Reid's heart was cheered by the thought that he had now two hundred of his own mountaineers at his back.

[23] This incident is literally true.

Next morning an order was given; the roar of the heavy guns ceased as if by magic; and Nicholson's column, springing up with a shout, rushed to the assault in the teeth of a tremendous and deadly fire. Up the slope of the glacis they rushed and on they surged, fired at by musketry and grape, thrust at by bayonet and spear, with showers of bricks and stones from the crumbling walls hurled down on their heads. At the other gates the 2nd and 3rd Columns behaved with equal gallantry, and the small force left to guard the ridge and camp watched their progress with interest and anxiety. Up the glacis and through the breach of the Kashmir Bastion they rushed, appearing at that distance like a swarm of bees clustering on the slope, then, reaching the top, they disappeared into the town.

But the adventures of these columns, stirring though they were, cannot be related here; we must return to Reid's force, where our friends are.

Through no fault of their plucky leader, the 4th Column was soon in difficulties. It should have been supplied with artillery to clear the suburbs, but though three guns were lent to them, no gunners were present. Now, special training is required for the working of artillery, and guns are useless without trained gunners, so Major Reid sought high and low for men to work the guns, but none could be found, and reluctantly, as though giving up hope of real success, he left the cannon behind. They had not proceeded far before they found barricades and breast-works erected in the way, and, sheltered by these, thousands of rebels poured forth a heavy fire from every side. The Gurkhas and Guides, dashing forward at the double, quickly dislodged the sepoys, put them to rout, and cleared the way; but farther on they found the foe in much greater force. Had Reid possessed gunners the barricades would soon have been cleared, but nothing less than a cannonade would now dislodge them, for more than ten thousand men opposed him. Unfortunately the Jummu contingent formed the larger part of his force, and though Dogras make gallant and loyal soldiers, these men had not had the benefit of British training, so they became confused, and fell back in disorder.

Britons, Guides, and Gurkhas fought magnificently to retrieve the day, but what could they do against such odds? Their progress was stayed, and worse was to follow. The gallant Reid was struck in the head by a bullet, and fell unconscious. Forty of the few Gurkhas were slain and scores wounded, the Rifles and Guides were also losing heavily, though without flinching, and the Rajah of Jummu's troops were doing more harm than good. Major Reid's successor reluctantly gave the order to retire, and, followed by thousands of the triumphant foe, the 4th Column fell back in good order, fighting to the last.

The pressure became more and more severe, and the men of the Jummu contingent were fast getting out of hand. Large bodies of the mutineers pushed forward on both flanks, forming a semicircle that threatened to envelop our men. Several parties from the stauncher battalions were detailed to delay these flanking movements, and of one of these, composed of about thirty picked shots of the Gurkhas, Ted was placed in charge, with Goria Thapa as second in command. He was sent some distance to the left, with instructions to roll back the right flank of the enemy for as long a time as possible. A stone breastwork, abandoned by the sepoys earlier in the day, was pointed out to him, and he had orders to rejoin the main body with all haste as soon as his position should become really dangerous.

Ted's command, bending low, scurried to the breastwork, and found not only good shelter, but a favourable position commanding the enemy's advance on this flank. Their muskets began to speak, and the discourse seemed persuasive. Throughout the whole length of the horse-shoe the action was resolving itself into a series of detached and separate engagements. Ted's gallant fellows broke up one party after another of the pandies, aiming with such cool accuracy that every bullet seemed to find its billet. But while the enemy's right was held at bay, their centre and left swarmed forward, and our hero, holding on too long, presently found himself in danger of being cut off.

Meanwhile the main body continued its retirement, the Rifles now forming the centre of the rear-guard. The British soldiers soon began to find the ground unfavourable, and the enemy pressed the more eagerly.

Inspired to greater audacity by their success, a large body of mutineers made a plucky dash forward, and surrounded a half-company of riflemen and a few Guides in a deep nullah, from which they were in the act of retiring. These men of the Rifles had been fighting gloriously, and had spent their last cartridge before they grasped the fact that they were unsupported and the sepoys were upon them. Hidden from view of their comrades by the high sloping banks that enclosed the broad river-bed, now almost dry, they fought for their lives with the overwhelming foe, and prepared to die like the heroes they were.

The wild charge of the pandies was checked half a dozen paces from those lines of quivering steel. The hesitation was but momentary. With yells of triumph the sepoys rushed upon the bayonets, only to be hurled back.

They recoiled, and those in the rear lay down and fired from between their comrades' legs, and man after man of the Rifles dropped. The lieutenant gave the order to charge, and back they crashed over the stony bed; and the pandies gave way, separated, and fired again and again as they kept clear of the bayonets. It seemed only a question of moments before the detachment should be exterminated. Already the young Englishman in charge of the half-dozen Guides was down, when a score of Gurkhas, led by Ensign Russell, suddenly topped the bank of the nullah, and tumbled in upon the rebels. In a moment all was confusion.

Unprepared, the sepoys turned upon their new assailants, and the kukris were keen. Huddled together as the rebels were, the bullets went through more than one body.

Twenty men were all that Ted had left, but so sudden and unexpected was their descent upon the scene that the charge was equal to that of a whole company. How many were following, the sepoys did not know, and a panic set in. The riflemen rose to the occasion, and before the mutineers could rally, or realize how insignificant was the reinforcement, British bayonets were hustling them to and fro, and their leaders had fallen. The spurt of pluck--of their old courage that had stood England in good stead on many a hard-won field--had died away; they had no British officers to inspire and lead them, and a blind panic set in. Each flashing bayonet, each shimmering kukri seemed multiplied twenty-fold to the eyes and senses of the terror-stricken rebels.

Ted was hotly engaging a lean pandy subadar, a typical Oudh Mohammedan.

The man was slowly giving way as Ted pressed upon him with rapid thrusts, when the subadar snatched off his turban and caught Ted's blade upon it. Before the boy could divine his intention he was at the rebel's mercy.

Not quite, though. The subadar stumbled awkwardly, let go turban and sword, and Ted took the opportunity to run him through before he understood what had happened. Stretched on the ground behind the subadar lay Alec Paterson, the wounded officer of the Guides. Summoning all his remaining strength, he seized the sepoy's foot as he was in the act of slicing at his chum, and so upset his balance. The dead man fell across Alec's chest, and he fainted away.

Within three minutes from Ted Russell's arrival not a pandy remained in the hollow who was able to leave it. The lieutenant called his men together, nodded approvingly towards Ted, and gave the order to continue the retirement. They joined the main body without encountering any dangerous opposition.

"Well, you are cool customers, you and your Gurkhas!" remarked the subaltern in command of the 60th's detachment, as soon as he could find time to make comments. "Pluckiest thing I've ever seen, to storm a position like that with such a handful."

"It was nothing," Ted muttered, turning away.

"It probably saved us a few lives, young man, and I'll take care that it is reported."

As he spoke, the officer who had succeeded to the command of the column when Major Reid fell hastened to the spot, and hurriedly enquired:

"What happened just now? I was looking on, unable to send you help, when I saw some Gurkhas come up from behind and drive the pandies from that nullah."

"He was in command," the subaltern replied, nodding towards the ensign.

"Had about twenty men with him. I never saw such a thing, and how he managed to escape unhurt I can't understand."

The enemy again began to press, though not so dangerously. Yet every yard had to be contested, and the odds against our fellows were enormous.

Of all those gallant officers and men none fought more pluckily than Captain Russell of the Guides; animating and encouraging his splendid fellows, he was ever nearest to the foe, as many a mutineer found to his cost. Inspired by the example, Ted emulated his brother's courage, and with the Gurkhas did his best to retrieve the day, and always by his side fought the young officer Jemadar Goria Thapa, son of his father's friend. As they retired towards the Ridge the boy was more than once engaged in single combat. Two assailants he had placed _hors de combat_ with sword or pistol, when he perceived that his brother was struck, though Jim, stifling his pain, continued to fight and to inspire the men. Ted, gazing anxiously at his brother, forgot for a moment his own dangerous position, when Goria Thapa knocked him roughly on one side.

Just in time! A bullet flew through the air where Ted's head had been, and his career would have been ended there and then had not the young Gurkha officer been on the alert. At the same moment two sepoys, one being the fellow who had fired the shot, rushed at the boy, who vainly strove to fend their bayonets with his sword. One of the mutineers soon broke down his guard and lunged. The steel passed through the fleshy part of Ted's arm, and the sepoy fell at his feet, slain by the sword of Goria Thapa. The second pandy turned to flee, but a Gurkha standing near bowled him over also, and again the little force fell slowly back, the pandies snarling just out of musket-shot, waiting for a leader brave enough to inspire them.

Our ensign's wound was extremely painful He tied a handkerchief round the arm, and remembering his brother's example, gave no sign. As they drew nearer to camp, two hundred men of the 9th Lancers and four hundred Sikh horse poured out to their support, charging like a thunderbolt into the enemy's masses, whilst the few Guides and Kumaon Gurkhas, who had been left to protect the Ridge, also came out to check the rush of victorious sepoys. At that moment Jemadar Goria Thapa sank to the ground with a bullet in his thigh. Here was Ted's chance to repay his debts!

Forgetting his wounds, he dashed at the three men who were rushing to polish off the Gurkha, and again his life hung by a thread.

But a couple of his Sirmur men had sprung after him, and with their kukris they quickly despatched two of the pandies. Then with Ted's assistance the wounded man was hurriedly carried away into the midst of their Kumaon countrymen, and safety was reached.

When Major Reid recovered consciousness, he found himself on the back of one of his faithful Gurkhas, who had carried him out of the fight. The wound, though severe, was happily not mortal. The Nepalese crowded around, their eyes plainly expressing both alarm and grief, and the man who had had the good fortune to carry their beloved chief to safety became an object of envy to his comrades.

"What a lucky fellow," thought they, "to have had the glorious privilege of saving the life of our wounded leader!"

When Reid became aware of all that had happened since his fall, his disappointment was intense, and the bitter sorrow occasioned by his failure to assist the other columns aggravated the pain of his wound. No less bitterly mortified were all his comrades, the surviving officers and men of the 4th Column, both British and Asiatic, the reflection that without artillery to aid, their attempt was doomed to failure, consoling them but little. Their defeat was the more grievous because of the high hopes and anticipations engendered by the striking success of the bombardment. It was generally thought that this would have filled the rebels with terror, and that the opposition offered to an assault would have been much less sturdy.

"Are you badly hurt, Jim?" asked Ted, as they looked on while the surgeon dressed the wounds of their much-injured chief.

"No, not badly. No bone touched. You're not hit, are you?"

"Sword-cut here, but it's only a scratch. It hasn't bled much. Will he do well, doctor?"

"Sure to. Now I'll have a look at your scratches! Oh, you're right for once, youngster. It is only a flesh wound, though I guess it hurts."

He pronounced Jim's injury rather worse than Ted's, and ordered him to take things quietly for some days. Ted accompanied his brother to the Guides' post to see how Alec was getting on.

"I wonder what's happened to the other columns?" said Ted as they left their wounded commandant. Jim grunted, and vouchsafed no reply. He was in a sullen mood, defeat being particularly bitter after such high hopes.

"Dare say they met with no better success," hazarded the ensign. "What the dickens were they doing to send us out without guns?--the idiots!

It's a badly managed business anyway!"

"Oh, don't talk so much," Jim replied. "We'll know about the other columns soon enough--they're all right! And don't be so ready with your 'idiots'. A man directing operations on this large scale has a lot more to think about than an ensign has, you know; though perhaps he don't know quite as much as some, to hear you youngsters talk! Do your work, and don't growl!"

Ted shut up. He would have dearly liked to say something cutting, but could not think of any suitable retort on the spot. And by the time a brilliant repartee had come to him, he had perceived that his brother was at least as much upset as himself. Thereupon he remained discreetly silent.

"There's Alec lying over there. He looks bad."

"Well, Alec, old chap, not very bad, I hope?"

"Not dead yet! They've got the bullet out all right, and I'll soon be about again. By Jove, Ted, you're a wonder! It was a mad thing to do, but rather a good job for all of us."

"What was that?" asked Jim in great surprise. He had not yet heard of Ted's great feat.

"Nothing; it's all bosh," interrupted Ted, colouring and looking somewhat sheepish.

"What! Do you mean that you haven't heard?" Paterson demanded, and proceeded to relate the story of their rescue by the Gurkhas. "It was one of the pluckiest things I've heard of," he concluded, "to charge a couple of hundred with twenty. You've saved fifty lives, and ought to be sure of the V.C. now, in spite of Tynan."

Jim rose from his seat, and solemnly shook hands with his brother.

"Ted," said he, "I'm sorry I was such a beast just now."