"I served all through," Ted answered with a little pride. "I went there with the Guides."

"Lucky young cub! Wish I could have taken my boys there."

"Rummy customer!" was Claude's comment, as the stranger turned away.

"Who is he?"

"I wonder. Looks more like a sailor than a soldier. But whoever he is, he's accustomed to command; I could see that. But I fancy it's time to find our way back to our own lines."

At 9 a.m. next day the column moved off in high spirits, Lieutenant Roberts conducting the advance, with the aid of a native guide he had secured. The enemy had been led to believe that the movement would be made direct, by the northern route taken by Havelock two months previously. But from the Alambagh the column struck eastwards for the Dilkusha (Heart's Delight) Palace. The ruse was successful. Having made their plans to meet the direct assault, the sepoys were not prepared for the flanking movement, and no time was given them to strengthen the defences of the positions now threatened. Outside the wall of the Dilkusha Park the column halted until a large enough breach had been made by the guns, and Ted watched the Highlanders of the 93rd pulling up carrots in a field, and, after a hurried scrape, munching them with great content.

The obstruction was short; a portion of the park wall was soon broken down, and in went the Highlanders, eager to close. But the rebels had fled. A staff-officer, short and slight, trotted past as Ted's Arab was picking its way over the fallen masonry.

"There goes plucky wee Bobs!" he heard a sergeant of the 93rd remark to his mate; and Ted recognized the officer as Lieutenant Roberts. It was the first time he had heard the affectionate nickname bestowed upon the much-loved hero by the soldiers of forty-five years ago. Roberts, an artillery officer, had, of course, never served with the 93rd, but the "Scotties" had seen much of him lately, and even so early in his career he had won a place in their hearts rarely filled by any whose name is not prefixed by "Mac". "Bobs" they had christened him, "Plucky wee Bobs". To be known by such a name among these gallant fellows of the 93rd--the famous Thin Red Line of Balaclava--told of unusual coolness and daring.

Ted saw Lieutenant Roberts shoot ahead to reconnoitre, a native trooper following. The artillery officer halted, gazed in front, and signalled for the guns to advance. As he did so the roar of cannon thundered from behind the yellow palace. The rebels had opened point-blank upon the two solitary horsemen from a hidden battery, cutting the orderly's horse in two, and the trooper fell beneath his dead steed. Roberts was seen coolly to dismount in the face of the guns, and a loud huzza rose from the throats of the Highlanders as he dragged the orderly from under the weight, though the grape whizzed about them.

Under his direction the guns advanced, and the mutineers did not stay to test the British marksmanship, but made off with all speed in the direction of the Martiniere. Almost without a pause the cavalry cantered across the high swards of the Dilkusha Park, the startled deer scudding away on all sides in vain endeavour to escape the noise.

As the Horse Artillery and cavalry drew nearer, the Martiniere was quickly deserted, and Boldre's Horse and a few squadrons of regulars and irregulars pursued the sepoys as far as the canal. There was no dressed line of thundering horses, for the troopers broke off in threes or fours, whenever they saw a chance of engaging the pandies; and Ted, spurring after Govind Singh, who, having the start of him, was hotly in pursuit of one body of rebels, suddenly saw his friend Boldre busily engaged with three faithless sowars and in sore plight. Turning to Claude's aid, he drew off one, and, with a clever thrust, was able to disable the man's sword-arm. Boldre, who was no swordsman, by good luck cut down a second, and the third fled as Ramzan Khan came up at a gallop.

"Thanks, Russell!" said Claude. "But look out! here are half a dozen more."

Perceiving that the two Englishmen were separated from their comrades, a number of rebel troopers--men of the Irregular Cavalry who had deserted Henry Lawrence at Chinhut five months before--charged down upon the little group with sharp, angry cries. Before the lads had resolved how to withstand the shock, Ramzan Khan shot out to meet the pandies, and there was nothing for it but to back him up.

"Plucky beggar! He'll be killed!" groaned Claude; but to their amazement the orderly showed himself a consummate wielder of the sword. He swerved aside as they bore down upon him, and slashed at the nearest rebel as he passed, the man tumbling like a sack of flour from his horse. Parrying a blow, he disarmed another by a turn of the wrist, and smote a third over the shoulder just as Ted arrived on the scene and made for the pandy on his orderly's right. Ted swung his sword aloft--and then his head seemed to split, and he saw the stars dancing in their courses. The sword fell from his grasp, but his knees instinctively retained their grip, and the blood streamed down his face.

"I'm not killed anyhow," said he to himself, and began to look about him. Ramzan Khan was engaged with two at once, and the cruel-looking little pandy at whom he had ridden was clearly getting the better of Boldre. Ted urged his restive Arab alongside the sepoy's horse, and, having no sword, clutched the man by his tunic collar and under his left arm, and putting forth all his strength, he swung him from the saddle.

Before he could drop him, the sowar, turning half round in the air, got his knee on the neck of Ted's horse and aimed a vicious cut at his captor. The blow would have done for Ted, had not Claude been able to strike up the sword and give the point, and the pandy sank at the horse's feet. Ramzan Khan's remaining opponents had fled.

"You've saved me twice to-day, Russell," said Boldre quietly. "Are you hurt?"

"I don't know. Something struck me in the face, but I can't imagine what it was. It seems as if my nose is bleeding."

Claude roared most ungratefully.

"Why," said he, "as you charged the pandy, he suddenly backed his horse away from Ramzan Khan, and your Arab cannoned into it, and, half-rearing, he threw up his head and caught you full on the nose as you were leaning forward. Then I drew the pandy's attention from you."

"Is that how it was? Where did my sword go?---- Ah! there it is; but what an ass I am!"

"Why particularly so?"

"I never had the sense to use my pistol." He took out his Deane and Adams revolver and fingered it regretfully, adding to the orderly as they turned back towards the Martiniere and again joined their comrades:

"We owe our lives to your courage and skill, Ramzan Khan. You are bleeding. Are you hurt?"

The Mohammedan grinned, showing his even teeth and the whites of his eyes.

"It is nothing. I owed you a debt, sahib, so let there be no talk of thanks. It was for this purpose that my father sent me to ride by your side."

"I thank you no less," Ted assured him; and added, "You can use your sword."

"Ah! my father taught us. He is indeed a swordsman. He will be pleased that I have proved of service."

As they drew near to the Martiniere Claude exclaimed:

"Hullo, there's our friend of yesterday! Why, of course it's Peel! What duffers we were not to guess!"

Peel! Captain Peel of H.M.S. _Shannon_, commanding the famous Naval Brigade with the big guns from the man-of-war at Calcutta. Yes, he it was who had shown them the position of the Residency. Right glad were the troops in Ladysmith of the aid of the sailors and their splendid guns, and glad were the raisers of the Lucknow siege when Peel and his jolly tars came to bear a hand.

The sailors had unyoked the stolid bullocks--"cow-horses" they contemptuously termed them--and were hauling on the drag-ropes, drawing the mighty engines of destruction along as though they were but wooden toys, and the Punjabis of Boldre's Horse gazed in bewilderment at this new species of Feringhi. Shorter men than themselves, but what giants in strength!

"Who are they, sahib?" asked Govind Singh. "Is it a new kind of soldier like those big warriors in petticoats we first saw yesterday?" And Ted tried hard to explain to the Sikhs how Britain's chief strength lay, not in her comparatively small army, but in her glorious navy.

"But why are they doing coolie work? They are indeed strong as bullocks."

"Do bullocks take a pride in their work, or can they do it half so well?" Ted replied. "These men love their guns, and they rejoice in their strength, and so they are invincible."

In all probability Ramzan Khan had saved our hero's life that November afternoon, but the same night he was fighting desperately against an equally remorseless foe, against whom his orderly's swordmanship was of no avail. For he was again down with cholera, and this time a far worse attack than the slight one at Delhi, and when his chums left his bedside next morning they hardly dared hope to see him again. For days he lay between life and death, and then, thanks to a tough constitution and a healthy life, he rallied and began to pick up.

The Martiniere, in which he lay, was a vast palace built by Claude Martin, a French adventurer who had amassed great wealth in Lucknow. It was a curious building, with statues placed wherever they would stand, in grotesque profusion. The Frenchman had hoped to sell the palace to his friend the King of Oudh, naming a price of one million sterling. But the monarch had laughed at the idea, informing old Monsieur Martin that by their law the property would belong to the sovereign on the death of the owner. So Martin determined to outwit the king, and prepared his own tomb within the building. In due course Claude Martin died and was buried therein, thus circumventing his royal master, for no Mussulman dare live in a building in which the body of an unbeliever has lain.

Previous to the siege the Martiniere had been used as a school for the children of soldiers.

As Ted lay in helpless pain the booming of the guns never seemed to cease. In spirit he was back again with the Gurkhas on the Ridge, watching Brind's battery pounding at the walls of Delhi. At last the thunder of the cannon ceased, and he fell asleep. When he woke up Alec Paterson was talking to the doctor, and he heard the latter say: "I think he's all right now; he's had a bad time, though."

"Hullo, Alec! Has Brind breached the walls yet?"

"Brind? You're wandering, old man; we're just outside Lucknow." And, faintly remembering, Ted began to collect his scattered wits.

"I've been dreaming," said he. "I thought we were still on the Ridge. I remember now. Sir Colin is attacking to-day, isn't he?"

"Not to-day; we're retreating to-day."

"What? D'you think you can pull my leg so easily?"

"It's a fact. The force is retiring, and I've come on with instructions.

Listen! Those are Blunt's guns."

"And do you mean to say that we're leaving Lucknow to the rebels?"

"I do."

"And Outram and Havelock, and the women and children?"

"No," laughed his chum; "we've brought them away. I've just ridden from the Dilkusha, where preparations are being made to receive them. I've been ragging you. We have relieved Lucknow, but, not being strong enough to hold the town, Sir Colin is retiring on Cawnpore. He means to send the women to Allahabad and wait for reinforcements. You've missed a lot, old man. Your luck deserted you this time."

"How did our fellows behave?"

"Boldre's Horse? Hardly engaged. The brunt of the work fell on the 53rd, 93rd, and 4th Sikhs. It was fine to see the two last regiments storm the Sikanderbagh, the Sikhs going off with a rush and the Highlanders after them, racing like mad. A Highlander jumped first through the breach and was killed, then Sikhs and Pathans and Highlanders all mixed. It was fine! The Englishmen and Irishmen of the 53rd did some good work too."