Ted turned to Ambar Singh and the sepoys.
“Do not listen to the dogs,” said he. “Let us fight to the end, as your forefathers did against the Moguls. They are not to be trusted; they will assuredly slay us if we yield.”
The sepoys stoutly assented. They had little faith in the Mohammedans, who were seeking their lives,—the men who had murdered Markham Sahib.
“You are right, sahib,” said the havildar, “and we will fight by your side. That low-caste hound,” pointing to Pir Baksh, “is afraid of us, and wishes to disarm us with soft words, but we know him.”
Tynan saw his authority taken from him, the sepoys understanding and looking to Ted as their leader.
“How dare you?” he hotly demanded.
“Oh, go away! You’ve nothing to do with this business.” Ted sneered, not too generously, for Tynan had disgusted him. With the same breath he ordered Pir Baksh to clear away, and the firing recommenced.
The time had come for him to act upon the resolve he had made, a resolve to sacrifice himself and his already-doomed handful, rather than allow the capture of the stores to endanger the safety of his countrymen. The idea of blowing up the magazine had come upon him suddenly as he remembered the news that had arrived yesterday from Delhi,—how Lieutenant Willoughby and his nine heroes had blown up the immense arsenal there and destroyed hundreds of rebels.
The entrance to the magazine was through the room in which they lay. The rebels were quiet, plotting some new move, no doubt, so, leaving the trusty Ambar Singh in charge, Ted proceeded to the spot and began to lay a train of powder to connect the barrels with their post. Before the others had guessed his intention he had brought the train within the room, and the white-faced senior ensign, who had lost by now the last remnant of his pluck, jabbered incoherently and attempted to interfere, until Ted roughly threatened to blow his brains out. Dazed and trembling the wretched boy shifted as far as he could from the black trail. The Rajputs looked on with frightened eyes, half-paralysed by the shock of this new terror; and Dwarika Rai fell on his knees and begged the ensign to have mercy, for such a fate meant more than death to these Hindus.
For a moment the boy’s heart failed him; the thought was too awful. To be blown into a hundred pieces, how terrible it seemed! And what right had he to condemn these faithful men to such a death?