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.