“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.