Ted turned very red, and his hand remained limp as Jim shook it. His chum's very evident admiration did not seem to give him any pleasure.

"I s'pose you've not heard anything of the other columns yet?" asked the invalid.

"Not yet.... I'm afraid we shall hear soon enough."

On the following day, news of the achievements of the other columns arrived; good news mixed with bad, for Nicholson lay dying, shot through the body as he headed the charge and led his men to victory.

Soon came also tidings of the glorious acts of the heroes of the 3rd Column, of Lieutenants Home and Salkeld, of Sergeants Burgess, Carmichael, and Smith, and of Bugler Hawthorne--the heroes who had taken their lives in their hands and had blown up the Kashmir Gate, after overcoming seemingly insurmountable obstacles, a deed with which all England rang. Of these six men, four were subsequently awarded the Victoria Cross; and the other two, Burgess and Carmichael, would have been honoured in the same way had they survived.

Truly, even in this year of heroes and heroic deeds, the story of these glorious men and of their act of devotion stands out clear to dazzle our imaginations, to lead us to thank God that they were of our breed, to make us wonder what we of the same blood would have done had we been in their place. Then let us hope we become more humble in our pride.

By the 18th of September the Lahore Gate and Bastion were also captured, and on the 20th the whole of Delhi was in our hands.

The Palace taken and the king a prisoner, the Indian Mutiny had lost its sting.

Yet, in spite of victory, gloom was over the camp, for a hero lay dying, and there was no hope of saving his life. John Nicholson's wound had proved mortal: a life that had promised to be of unusual brilliance would soon be cut short, even before its work was more than half done--but that half had been done well. The career of this dying leader of men had been unique, even in the annals of British rule in India, whose pages teem with the deeds and lives of heroes in the noblest sense of that word--men worthy of all admiration, men whose lives inspire others to follow the gleam.

CHAPTER XXIII

Ted Extinguishes Himself

"Where shall I find Ensign Russell?" enquired a messenger from head-quarters as he approached the outpost. Ted was quickly found, and his agitation may be imagined when he learned that General Nicholson had sent for him. Nervously, reverently, and full of sorrow, he entered the tent. The somewhat stern and haughty look, so well known to all evil-doers who had chanced to cross his path, had vanished from the great man's countenance as he greeted the boy.

"So, young man, you've escaped unwounded?"

"Yes, sir, ... at least only very slightly."

"Ah, your arm, I see!" began the general. "Perhaps you can guess why I sent for you? Somehow I took a strange liking to you that day I arrived on the Ridge, ... though I ought not to approve of disobedience,"

continued the wounded man, smiling.

Ted bent his head and was silent.

"You are the son of Major-general Russell, I hear? I knew your father well. I served with him in Afghanistan, and he will be a proud man when he hears that by an act of conspicuous bravery you perhaps averted a disaster to a whole column."

John Nicholson was silent for a few moments before resuming:

"I have since heard how you distinguished yourself when your regiment mutinied. You have begun well, keep on in the same way. Put duty first, and your country may one day be proud of you, as she is to-day of Tombs and Brind and Reid."

Here the wounded general was interrupted by the entrance of Sir Archdale Wilson, who, with grave and anxious face, had come to enquire as to the condition of his second in command.

Nicholson turned to him.

"This is the lad, Wilson, of whom we were speaking yesterday. You received a report from the officer commanding the 4th Column, stating how Ensign Russell had helped to bring it safely in."

Ted stood by with downcast eyes, and as he fumbled nervously with his sword-hilt he looked anything but a hero. Once or twice he opened his mouth as though he wished to speak, but could not overcome his nervousness.

General Wilson spoke cordially and kindly to him.

"So you are Ensign Russell? I must tell you that your storming of that nullah was worthy of the best traditions of our young officers. I am proud of commanding an army in which deeds of heroism are of daily occurrence, and young as you are, on General Nicholson's advice, I intend to mark my appreciation by recommending you for promotion. Whilst awaiting formal confirmation, I take upon myself to raise you to subaltern rank. Good-day, Lieutenant Russell!"

"Good-bye, lad!" echoed Nicholson.

"Thank you, sir!" Ted mumbled and moved away, then stopped in some confusion, and again made as if to speak, but the eyes of the two generals were turned away.

Anticipating some such reward for his brother's display of courage and resource, Jim had accompanied him to the camp, and was now walking up and down at some distance from the general's tent.

"Well, what is it, old boy?" he asked excitedly, for Jim was feeling proud of his younger brother's distinction.

For a few paces the boy walked on without replying. Then he said quietly and wearily:

"They complimented me about something or other. I'm sick of it."

"What's the matter, young 'un, you look miserable? Is your cut smarting, or had you set your heart on promotion and feel disappointed? It's a shame! I think you ought to be promoted!"

"No, it isn't," Ted contradicted testily.

"Ted, whatever is the matter?"

"Oh, I'm not well, Jim! I'm sorry I'm such a brute."

"You look bad, young 'un; you must have that cut seen to. I thought you were queer as we came along."

Ted turned on his heel.

"Don't wait for me," he muttered, and retraced his steps towards the tent he had just quitted, leaving Jim staring in bewilderment.

Recognizing the ensign, the sentry gave admittance without question.

General Wilson was still with his junior, and both turned their heads as he entered.

"Well, Russell, what is it?" General Wilson asked with surprise.

"I'm very sorry, sir," faltered Ted, "I've been deceiving you."

"How? What do you mean?"

"I never meant to attack that nullah or rescue the fellows in it," the boy replied, now speaking eagerly and hurriedly. "I never knew there was such a place. I had lost a lot of my men, sir, and as the enemy were being reinforced in front, I ordered the men to double back to where I thought our supports were. The ditch was hidden from us by an embankment, and we stumbled into the midst of the rebels, and if it hadn't been that the Gurkhas are so sharp and never get flurried, we'd all have been cut up, sir. As it happened, the pandies were more surprised than we were, and they thought, I suppose, that we were in force, and so they cut away. And everyone thought I had done it on purpose, and they didn't give me a chance to explain. And then, as everyone has been congratulating me, and I hadn't denied it at once, I found it still harder to explain afterwards. And--well, sir, after what you and General Nicholson said just now, I couldn't stand it any longer.

And I'm very sorry, sir."

General Wilson glanced at General Nicholson, who laughed The former laid his hand on Ted's shoulder.

"Don't be alarmed, youngster," he said; "I think I see how it was. Of course I can't send in the recommendation now. You understand that, of course?"

"Of course, sir."

"Come here, Ensign Russell," said John Nicholson.